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LOGIC
DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE
First Edition, June 1898. | (Grant Richards.) |
Second Edition, November 1901. | (Grant Richards.) |
Third Edition, January 1906. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, January 1908. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, May 1909. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, July 1910. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, September 1911. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, November 1912. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, April 1913. | (A. Moring Ltd.) |
Reprinted, May 1920. | (Simpkin.) |
LOGIC
DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE
BY
CARVETH READ, M.A.
AUTHOR OF
AUTHOR OF
"THE METAPHYSICS OF NATURE"
"Nature's Metaphysics"
"NATURAL AND SOCIAL MORALS"
"Naturally Occurring Social Ethics"
ETC.
ETC.
FOURTH EDITION
4th Edition
ENLARGED, AND PARTLY REWRITTEN
Expanded and partially rewritten
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. LTD., 4 STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
LONDON, E.C.4
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. LTD., 4 STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
LONDON, E.C.4
PREFACE
In this edition of my Logic, the text has been revised throughout, several passages have been rewritten, and some sections added. The chief alterations and additions occur in cc. i., v., ix., xiii., xvi., xvii., xx.
In this edition of my Logic, the text has been updated throughout, several sections have been rewritten, and some new parts added. The main changes and additions are found in chapters i., v., ix., xiii., xvi., xvii., and xx.
The work may be considered, on the whole, as attached to the school of Mill; to whose System of Logic, and to Bain's Logic, it is deeply indebted. Amongst the works of living writers, the Empirical Logic of Dr. Venn and the Formal Logic of Dr. Keynes have given me most assistance. To some others acknowledgments have been made as occasion arose.
The work can generally be seen as linked to Mill's school; it owes a lot to his System of Logic and Bain's Logic. Among contemporary writers, I’ve found the Empirical Logic by Dr. Venn and the Formal Logic by Dr. Keynes to be the most helpful. I've also acknowledged others as needed.
For the further study of contemporary opinion, accessible in English, one may turn to such works as Mr. Bradley's Principles of Logic, Dr. Bosanquet's Logic; or the Morphology of Knowledge, Prof. Hobhouse's Theory of Knowledge, Jevon's Principles of Science, and Sigwart's Logic. Ueberweg's Logic, and History of Logical Doctrine is invaluable for the history of our subject. The attitude toward Logic of the Pragmatists or Humanists may best be studied in Dr. Schiller's Formal Logic, and in Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Process of Argument and recent Elementary Logic. The second part of this last work, on the "Risks of Reasoning," gives an admirably succinct account of their position. I agree with the Humanists that, in all argument, the important thing to attend to is the meaning, and that the most serious difficulties of reasoning occur in dealing with the matter reasoned about; but I find [Pg vi]that a pure science of relation has a necessary place in the system of knowledge, and that the formulæ known as laws of contradiction, syllogism and causation are useful guides in the framing and testing of arguments and experiments concerning matters of fact. Incisive criticism of traditionary doctrines, with some remarkable reconstructions, may be read in Dr. Mercier's New Logic.
For further exploration of contemporary viewpoints available in English, you can look at works like Mr. Bradley's Principles of Logic, Dr. Bosanquet's Logic; or the Morphology of Knowledge, Prof. Hobhouse's Theory of Knowledge, Jevon's Principles of Science, and Sigwart's Logic. Ueberweg's Logic, and History of Logical Doctrine is invaluable for understanding the history of our subject. The Pragmatist or Humanist perspective on Logic can best be examined in Dr. Schiller's Formal Logic, along with Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Process of Argument and his recent Elementary Logic. The second part of the latter, titled "Risks of Reasoning," provides a clear summary of their stance. I share the Humanists' belief that in any argument, the crucial aspect to focus on is the meaning, and that the most significant challenges in reasoning arise when engaging with the subject matter itself; however, I also believe that [Pg vi] a pure science of relations is essential to the system of knowledge, and that the formulas known as laws of contradiction, syllogism, and causation serve as helpful tools in crafting and assessing arguments and experiments related to factual matters. Sharp critiques of traditional doctrines, along with some notable reconstructions, can be found in Dr. Mercier's New Logic.
In preparing successive editions of this book, I have profited by the comments of my friends: Mr. Thomas Whittaker, Prof. Claude Thompson, Dr. Armitage Smith, Mr. Alfred Sidgwick, Dr. Schiller, Prof. Spearman, and Prof. Sully, have made important suggestions; and I might have profited more by them, if the frame of my book, or my principles, had been more elastic.
In preparing new editions of this book, I've benefitted from the feedback of my friends: Mr. Thomas Whittaker, Prof. Claude Thompson, Dr. Armitage Smith, Mr. Alfred Sidgwick, Dr. Schiller, Prof. Spearman, and Prof. Sully have offered valuable suggestions; and I could have gained even more from them if the structure of my book or my principles had been more flexible.
As to the present edition, useful criticisms have been received from Mr. S.C. Dutt, of Cotton College, Assam, and from Prof. M.A. Roy, of Midnapore; and, especially, I must heartily thank my colleague, Dr. Wolf, for communications that have left their impress upon nearly every chapter.
As for this edition, I've received helpful feedback from Mr. S.C. Dutt at Cotton College in Assam and from Prof. M.A. Roy in Midnapore. I especially want to express my sincere gratitude to my colleague, Dr. Wolf, for insights that have influenced nearly every chapter.
Carveth Read.
Carveth Read.
London,
August, 1914
London,
August, 1914
CONTENTS
page | ||
Preface | v | |
CHAPTER I | ||
INTRODUCTORY | ||
§1. | Definition of Logic | 1 |
§2. | General character of proof | 2 |
§3. | Division of the subject | 5 |
§4. | Uses of Logic | 6 |
§5. | Relation of Logic to other sciences | 8 |
to Mathematics (p. 8); to concrete Sciences (p. 10); to Metaphysics (p. 10); to regulative sciences (p. 11) | ||
§6. | Schools of Logicians | 11 |
Relation to Psychology (p. 13) | ||
CHAPTER II | ||
GENERAL ANALYSIS OF PROPOSITIONS | ||
§1. | Propositions and Sentences | 16 |
§2. | Subject, Predicate and Copula | 17 |
§3. | Compound Propositions | 17 |
§4. | Import of Propositions | 19 |
§5. | Form and Matter | 22 |
§6. | Formal and Material Logic | 23 |
§7. | Symbols used in Logic | 24 |
CHAPTER III | ||
OF TERMS AND THEIR DENOTATION | ||
§1. | Some Account of Language necessary | 27 |
§2. | Logic, Grammar and Rhetoric | 28 |
§3. | Words are Categorematic or Syncategorematic | 29 |
§4. | Terms Concrete or Abstract | 30 |
§5. | Concrete Terms, Singular, General or Collective | 33 |
CHAPTER IV | ||
THE CONNOTATION OF TERMS | ||
§1. | Connotation of General Names | 37 |
§2. | Question of Proper Names | 38 |
other Singular Names (p. 40) | ||
§3. | Question of Abstract Terms | 40 |
§4. | Univocal and Equivocal Terms | 41 |
Connotation determined by the suppositio (p. 43) | ||
§5. | Absolute and Relative Terms | 43 |
§6. | Relation of Denotation to Connotation | 46 |
§7. | Contradictory Terms | 47 |
§8. | Positive and Negative Terms | 50 |
Infinites; Privitives; Contraries (pp. 50-51) | ||
CHAPTER V | ||
CLASSIFICATION OF PROPOSITIONS | ||
§1. | As to Quantity | 53 |
Quantity of the Predicate (p. 56) | ||
§2. | As to Quality | 57 |
Infinite Propositions (p. 57) | ||
§3. | A. I. E. O. | 58 |
§4. | As to Relation | 59 |
Change of Relation (p. 60); Interpretation of 'either, or' (p. 63); Function of the hypothetical form (p. 64) | ||
§5. | As to Modality | 66 |
§6. | Verbal and Real Propositions | 67 |
CHAPTER VI | ||
CONDITIONS OF IMMEDIATE INFERENCE | ||
§1. | Meaning of Inference | 69 |
§2. | Immediate and Mediate Inference | 70 |
§3. | The Laws of Thought | 72 |
§4. | Identity | 73 |
§5. | Contradiction and Excluded Middle | 74 |
§6. | The Scope of Formal Inference | 76 |
CHAPTER VII | ||
IMMEDIATE INFERENCES | ||
§1. | Plan of the Chapter | 79 |
§2. | Subalternation | 79 |
§3. | Connotative Subalternation | 80 |
§4. | Conversion | 82 |
Reciprocality (p. 84) | ||
§5. | Obversion | 85 |
§6. | Contrary Opposition | 87 |
§7. | Contradictory Opposition | 87 |
§8. | Sub-contrary Opposition | 88 |
§9. | The Square of Opposition | 89 |
§10. | Secondary modes of Immediate Inference | 90 |
§11. | Immediate Inferences from Conditionals | 93 |
CHAPTER VIII | ||
ORDER OF TERMS, EULER'S DIAGRAMS, LOGICAL EQUATIONS, EXISTENTIAL IMPORT OF PROPOSITIONS | ||
§1. | Order of Terms in a proposition | 95 |
§2. | Euler's Diagrams | 97 |
§3. | Propositions considered as Equations | 101 |
§4. | Existential Import of Propositions | 104 |
CHAPTER IX | ||
FORMAL CONDITIONS OF MEDIATE INFERENCE | ||
§1. | Nature of Mediate Inference and Syllogism | 107 |
§2. | General Canons of the Syllogism | 108 |
Definitions of Categorical Syllogism; Middle Term; Minor Term; Major Term; Minor and Major Premise (p. 109); Illicit Process (p. 110); Distribution of the Middle (p. 110); Negative Premises (p. 112); Particular Premises (p. 113) | ||
§3. | Dictum de omni et nullo | 115 |
§4. | Syllogism in relation to the Laws of Thought | 116 |
§5. | Other Kinds of Mediate Inference | 118 |
CHAPTER X | ||
CATEGORICAL SYLLOGISMS | ||
§1. | Illustrations of the Syllogism | 121 |
§2. | Of Figures | 122 |
§3. | Of Moods | 123 |
§4. | How valid Moods are determined | 124 |
§5. | Special Canons of the Four Figures | 126 |
§6. | Ostensive Reduction and the Mnemonic Verses | 127 |
§7. | Another version of the Mnemonic Verses | 132 |
§8. | Indirect Reduction | 132 |
§9. | Uses of the several Figures | 134 |
§10. | Scientific Value of Reduction | 135 |
§11. | Euler's Diagrams for the Syllogism | 136 |
CHAPTER XI | ||
ABBREVIATED AND COMPOUND ARGUMENTS | ||
§1. | Popular Arguments Informal | 138 |
§2. | The Enthymeme | 139 |
§3. | Monosyllogism, Polysyllogism, Prosyllogism, Episyllogism | 141 |
§4. | The Epicheirema | 142 |
§5. | The Sorites | 142 |
§6. | The Antinomy | 145 |
CHAPTER XII | ||
CONDITIONAL SYLLOGISMS | ||
§1. | The Hypothetical Syllogism | 147 |
§2. | The Disjunctive Syllogism | 152 |
§3. | The Dilemma | 154 |
CHAPTER XIII | ||
TRANSITION TO INDUCTION | ||
§1. | Formal Consistency and Material Truth | 159 |
§2. | Real General Propositions assert more than has been directly observed | 160 |
§3. | Hence, formally, a Syllogism's Premises seem to beg the Conclusion | 162 |
§4. | Materially, a Syllogism turns upon the resemblance of the Minor to the Middle Term and thus extends the Major Premise to new cases | 163 |
§5. | Restatement of the Dictum for material reasoning | 165 |
§6. | Uses of the Syllogism | 167 |
§7. | Analysis of the Uniformity of Nature, considered as the formal ground of all reasoning | 169 |
§8. | Grounds of our belief in Uniformity | 173 |
CHAPTER XIV | ||
CAUSATION | ||
§1. | The most important aspect of Uniformity in relation to Induction is Causation | 174 |
§2. | Definition of "Cause" explained: five marks of Causation | 175 |
§3. | How strictly the conception of Cause can be applied depends upon the subject under investigation | 183 |
§4. | Scientific conception of Effect. Plurality of Causes | 185 |
§5. | Some condition, but not the whole cause, may long precede the Effect; and some co-effect, but not the whole effect, may long survive the Cause | 187 |
§6. | Mechanical Causes and the homogeneous Intermixture of Effects; Chemical Causes and the heteropathic Intermixture of Effects | 188 |
§7. | Tendency, Resultant, Counteraction, Elimination, Resolution, Analysis, Reciprocity | 189 |
CHAPTER XV | ||
INDUCTIVE METHOD | ||
§1. | Outline of Inductive investigation | 192 |
§2. | Induction defined | 196 |
§3. | "Perfect Induction" | 196 |
§4. | Imperfect Induction methodical or immethodical | 197 |
§5. | Observation and Experiment, the material ground of Induction, compared | 198 |
§6. | The principle of Causation is the formal ground of Induction | 201 |
§7. | The Inductive Canons are derived from the principle of Causation, the more readily to detect it in facts observed | 202 |
CHAPTER XVI | ||
THE CANONS OF DIRECT INDUCTION | ||
§1. | The Canon of Agreement | 206 |
Negative Instances (p. 208); Plurality of Causes (p. 208) | ||
Agreement may show connection without direct Causation (p. 209) | ||
§2. | The Canon of Agreement in Presence and in Absence | 212 |
It tends to disprove a Plurality of Causes (p. 213) | ||
§3. | The Canon of Difference | 216 |
May be applied to observations (p. 221) | ||
§4. | The Canon of Variations | 222 |
How related to Agreement and Difference (p. 222); The Graphic Method (p. 227); Critical points (p. 230); Progressive effects (p. 231); Gradations (p. 231) | ||
§5. | The Canon of Residues | 232 |
CHAPTER XVII | ||
COMBINATION OF INDUCTION WITH DEDUCTION | ||
§1. | Deductive character of Formal Induction | 236 |
§2. | Further complication of Deduction with Induction | 238 |
§3. | The Direct Deductive (or Physical) Method | 240 |
§4. | Opportunities of Error in the Physical Method | 243 |
§5. | The Inverse Deductive (or Historical) Method | 246 |
§6. | Precautions in using the Historical Method | 251 |
§7. | The Comparative Method | 255 |
§8. | Historical Evidence | 261 |
CHAPTER XVIII | ||
HYPOTHESES | ||
§1. | Hypothesis defined and distinguished from Theory | 266 |
§2. | An Hypothesis must be verifiable | 268 |
§3. | Proof of Hypotheses | 270 |
(1) Must an hypothetical agent be directly observable? (p. 270); Vera causa (p. 271) | ||
(2) An Hypothesis must be adequate to its pretensions (p. 272); Exceptio probat regulam (p. 274) | ||
(3) Every competing Hypothesis must be excluded (p. 275); Crucial instance (p. 277) | ||
(4) Hypotheses must agree with the laws of Nature (p. 279) | ||
§4. | Hypotheses necessary in scientific investigation | 280 |
§5. | The Method of Abstractions | 283 |
Method of Limits (p. 284); In what sense all knowledge is hypothetical (p. 286) | ||
CHAPTER XIX | ||
LAWS CLASSIFIED; EXPLANATION; CO-EXISTENCE; ANALOGY | ||
§1. | Axioms; Primary Laws; Secondary Laws, Derivative or Empirical; Facts | 288 |
§2. | Secondary Laws either Invariable or Approximate Generalisations | 292 |
§3. | Secondary Laws trustworthy only in 'Adjacent Cases' | 293 |
§4. | Secondary Laws of Succession or of Co-existence | 295 |
Natural Kinds (p. 296); Co-existence of concrete things to be deduced from Causation (p. 297) | ||
§5. | Explanation consists in tracing resemblance, especially of Causation | 299 |
§6. | Three modes of Explanation | 302 |
Analysis (p. 302); Concatenation (p. 302); Subsumption (p. 303) | ||
§7. | Limits of Explanation | 305 |
§8. | Analogy | 307 |
CHAPTER XX | ||
PROBABILITY | ||
§1. | Meaning of Chance and Probability | 310 |
§2. | Probability as a fraction or proportion | 312 |
§3. | Probability depends upon experience and statistics | 313 |
§4. | It is a kind of Induction, and pre-supposes Causation | 315 |
§5. | Of Averages and the Law of Error | 318 |
§6. | Interpretation of probabilities | 324 |
Personal Equation (p. 325); meaning of 'Expectation' (p. 325) | ||
§7. | Rules of the combination of Probabilities | 325 |
Detection of a hidden Cause (p. 326); oral tradition (p. 327); circumstantial and analogical evidence (p. 328) | ||
CHAPTER XXI | ||
DIVISION AND CLASSIFICATION | ||
§1. | Classification, scientific, special and popular | 330 |
§2. | Uses of classification | 332 |
§3. | Classification, Deductive and Inductive | 334 |
§4. | Division, or Deductive Classification: its Rules | 335 |
§5. | Rules for testing a Division | 337 |
§6. | Inductive Classification | 339 |
§7. | Difficulty of Natural Classification | 341 |
§8. | Darwin's influence on the theory of Classification | 342 |
§9. | Classification of Inorganic Bodies also dependent on Causation | 346 |
CHAPTER XXII | ||
NOMENCLATURE, DEFINITION, PREDICABLES | ||
§1. | Precise thinking needs precise language | 348 |
§2. | Nomenclature and Terminology | 349 |
§3. | Definition | 352 |
§4. | Rules for testing a Definition | 352 |
§5. | Every Definition is relative to a Classification | 353 |
§6. | Difficulties of Definition | 356 |
Proposals to substitute the Type (p. 356) | ||
§7. | The Limits of Definition | 357 |
§8. | The five Predicables | 358 |
Porphyry's Tree (p. 361) | ||
§9. | Realism and Nominalism | 364 |
§10. | The Predicaments | 366 |
CHAPTER XXIII | ||
DEFINITION OF COMMON TERMS | ||
§1. | The rigour of scientific method must be qualified | 369 |
§2. | Still, Language comprises the Nomenclature of an imperfect Classification, to which every Definition is relative; | 370 |
§3. | and an imperfect Terminology | 374 |
§4. | Maxims and precautions of Definition | 375 |
§5. | Words of common language in scientific use | 378 |
§6. | How Definitions affect the cogency of arguments | 380 |
CHAPTER XXIV | ||
FALLACIES | ||
§1. | Fallacy defined and divided | 385 |
§2. | Formal Fallacies of Deduction | 385 |
§3. | Formal Fallacies of Induction | 388 |
§4. | Material Fallacies classified | 394 |
§5. | Fallacies of Observation | 394 |
§6. | Begging the Question | 396 |
§7. | Surreptitious Conclusion | 398 |
§8. | Ambiguity | 400 |
§9. | Fallacies, a natural rank growth of the Human mind, not easy to classify, or exterminate | 403 |
Questions | 405 |
LOGIC
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
§ 1. Logic is the science that explains what conditions must be fulfilled in order that a proposition may be proved, if it admits of proof. Not, indeed, every such proposition; for as to those that declare the equality or inequality of numbers or other magnitudes, to explain the conditions of their proof belongs to Mathematics: they are said to be quantitative. But as to all other propositions, called qualitative, like most of those that we meet with in conversation, in literature, in politics, and even in sciences so far as they are not treated mathematically (say, Botany and Psychology); propositions that merely tell us that something happens (as that salt dissolves in water), or that something has a certain property (as that ice is cold): as to these, it belongs to Logic to show how we may judge whether they are true, or false, or doubtful. When propositions are expressed with the universality and definiteness that belong to scientific statements, they are called laws; and laws, so far as they are not laws of quantity, are tested by the principles of Logic, if they at all admit of proof.
§ 1. Logic is the study that explains the conditions that need to be met for a statement to be proven, if it can be proven. Not every statement can be proven this way; for those that indicate the equality or inequality of numbers or other quantities, the proof conditions fall under Mathematics: they are called quantitative. However, for all other statements, referred to as qualitative, like the ones we commonly encounter in conversation, literature, politics, and even in sciences that aren't treated mathematically (like Botany and Psychology); statements that simply indicate that something occurs (like salt dissolves in water), or that something possesses a certain quality (like ice is cold): it is the role of Logic to demonstrate how we can determine if these statements are true, false, or uncertain. When statements are articulated with the clarity and precision typical of scientific assertions, they are termed laws; and laws, as long as they are not laws of quantity, are evaluated based on the principles of Logic, if they can be proven at all.
But it is plain that the process of proving cannot go on for ever; something must be taken for granted; and this is [Pg 2]usually considered to be the case (1) with particular facts that can only be perceived and observed, and (2) with those highest laws that are called 'axioms' or 'first principles,' of which we can only say that we know of no exceptions to them, that we cannot help believing them, and that they are indispensable to science and to consistent thought. Logic, then, may be briefly defined as the science of proof with respect to qualitative laws and propositions, except those that are axiomatic.
But it's clear that the process of proving can't go on forever; something has to be assumed as true. This is usually thought to be the case (1) with specific facts that can only be observed, and (2) with the fundamental laws known as 'axioms' or 'first principles.' We can only say that we know of no exceptions to them, that we inevitably believe them, and that they are essential for science and clear thinking. Logic can then be simply defined as the science of proof concerning qualitative laws and propositions, excluding those that are axiomatic.
§ 2. Proof may be of different degrees or stages of completeness. Absolute proof would require that a proposition should be shown to agree with all experience and with the systematic explanation of experience, to be a necessary part of an all-embracing and self-consistent philosophy or theory of the universe; but as no one hitherto has been able to frame such a philosophy, we must at present put up with something less than absolute proof. Logic, assuming certain principles to be true of experience, or at least to be conditions of consistent discourse, distinguishes the kinds of propositions that can be shown to agree with these principles, and explains by what means the agreement can best be exhibited. Such principles are those of Contradiction (chap. vi.), the Syllogism (chap. ix.), Causation (chap. xiv.), and Probabilities (chap. xx.). To bring a proposition or an argument under them, or to show that it agrees with them, is logical proof.
§ 2. Proof can come in different levels or stages of completeness. Absolute proof would mean demonstrating that a statement aligns with all experiences and provides a systematic explanation of those experiences, making it an essential part of a comprehensive and self-consistent philosophy or theory of the universe. However, since no one has been able to create such a philosophy so far, we have to settle for less than absolute proof for now. Logic, by assuming certain principles to be true regarding experience, or at least as necessary for consistent discussion, distinguishes the types of statements that can be shown to align with these principles and explains how to best demonstrate that agreement. These principles include Contradiction (chap. vi.), the Syllogism (chap. ix.), Causation (chap. xiv.), and Probabilities (chap. xx.). To categorize a statement or argument under them, or to show that it aligns with them, constitutes logical proof.
The extent to which proof is requisite, again, depends upon the present purpose: if our aim be general truth for its own sake, a systematic investigation is necessary; but if our object be merely to remove some occasional doubt that has occurred to ourselves or to others, it may be enough to appeal to any evidence that is admitted or not questioned. Thus, if a man doubts that some acids are compounds of oxygen, but grants that some compounds of oxygen are acids, he may agree to the former proposition when you point out that it has the same meaning as the [Pg 3]latter, differing from it only in the order of the words. This is called proof by immediate inference.
The level of proof required depends on the current purpose: if our goal is to uncover general truths for their own sake, a thorough investigation is needed; but if we're just looking to clear up some doubt that we or others have experienced, it might be enough to rely on any evidence that is accepted or not disputed. For example, if someone doubts that some acids are made of oxygen but agrees that some substances made of oxygen are acids, they might accept the first statement when you show that it means the same thing as the [Pg 3]second, differing only in the arrangement of the words. This is known as proof by immediate inference.
Again, suppose that a man holds in his hand a piece of yellow metal, which he asserts to be copper, and that we doubt this, perhaps suggesting that it is really gold. Then he may propose to dip it in vinegar; whilst we agree that, if it then turns green, it is copper and not gold. On trying this experiment the metal does turn green; so that we may put his argument in this way:—
Again, let’s say a man is holding a piece of yellow metal, claiming it's copper, and we doubt him, maybe suggesting it’s actually gold. He might then suggest dipping it in vinegar; we agree that if it turns green, it’s copper and not gold. When we try this experiment, the metal does turn green; so we can put his argument like this:—
This yellow metal turns green in vinegar;
So, this yellow metal is copper.
Such an argument is called proof by mediate inference; because one cannot see directly that the yellow metal is copper; but it is admitted that any yellow metal is copper that turns green in vinegar, and we are shown that this yellow metal has that property.
Such an argument is called proof by mediate inference because you can't directly see that the yellow metal is copper. However, it's accepted that any yellow metal that turns green in vinegar is copper, and we can see that this yellow metal has that property.
Now, however, it may occur to us, that the liquid in which the metal was dipped was not vinegar, or not pure vinegar, and that the greenness was due to the impurity. Our friend must thereupon show by some means that the vinegar was pure; and then his argument will be that, since nothing but the vinegar came in contact with the metal, the greenness was due to the vinegar; or, in other words, that contact with that vinegar was the cause of the metal turning green.
Now, however, it might occur to us that the liquid the metal was dipped in wasn't vinegar, or wasn't pure vinegar, and that the greenness resulted from the impurity. Our friend must then demonstrate in some way that the vinegar was pure; and then his argument will be that since nothing but the vinegar came into contact with the metal, the greenness was caused by the vinegar; in other words, that contact with that vinegar caused the metal to turn green.
Still, on second thoughts, we may suspect that we had formerly conceded too much; we may reflect that, although it had often been shown that copper turned green in vinegar, whilst gold did not, yet the same might not always happen. May it not be, we might ask, that just at this moment, and perhaps always for the future gold turns, and will turn green in vinegar, whilst copper does not and never will again? He will probably reply that this is to doubt the uniformity of causation: he may hope that we are not serious: he [Pg 4]may point out to us that in every action of our life we take such uniformity for granted. But he will be obliged to admit that, whatever he may say to induce us to assent to the principle of Nature's uniformity, his arguments will not amount to logical proof, because every argument in some way assumes that principle. He has come, in fact, to the limits of Logic. Just as Euclid does not try to prove that 'two magnitudes equal to the same third are equal to one another,' so the Logician (as such) does not attempt to prove the uniformity of causation and the other principles of his science.
Still, on second thoughts, we might suspect that we had previously agreed to too much; we might consider that, although it has often been demonstrated that copper turns green in vinegar while gold does not, the same might not always hold true. Could it be, we might wonder, that at this very moment, and perhaps always in the future, gold turns, and will turn, green in vinegar, while copper does not and never will again? He will probably respond that this is doubting the consistency of causation: he may hope that we're not being serious: he [Pg 4]may point out that in every action of our lives we take such consistency for granted. But he will have to admit that, no matter what he says to convince us of the principle of Nature's consistency, his arguments will not provide logical proof because every argument in some way presupposes that principle. He has, in fact, reached the limits of Logic. Just as Euclid does not try to prove that 'two magnitudes equal to the same third are equal to one another,' the Logician (as such) does not attempt to prove the consistency of causation and the other principles of his field.
Even when our purpose is to ascertain some general truth, the results of systematic inquiry may have various degrees of certainty. If Logic were confined to strict demonstration, it would cover a narrow field. The greater part of our conclusions can only be more or less probable. It may, indeed, be maintained, not unreasonably, that no judgments concerning matters of fact can be more than probable. Some say that all scientific results should be considered as giving the average of cases, from which deviations are to be expected. Many matters can only be treated statistically and by the methods of Probability. Our ordinary beliefs are adopted without any methodical examination. But it is the aim, and it is characteristic, of a rational mind to distinguish degrees of certainty, and to hold each judgment with the degree of confidence that it deserves, considering the evidence for and against it. It takes a long time, and much self-discipline, to make some progress toward rationality; for there are many causes of belief that are not good grounds for it—have no value as evidence. Evidence consists of (1) observation; (2) reasoning checked by observation and by logical principles; (3) memory—often inaccurate; (4) testimony—often untrustworthy, but indispensable, since all we learn from books or from other men is taken on testimony; (5) the agreement of all our results. On the other hand, belief is caused by many [Pg 5]influences that are not evidence at all: such are (1) desire, which makes us believe in whatever serves our purpose; fear and suspicion, which (paradoxically) make us believe in whatever seems dangerous; (2) habit, which resists whatever disturbs our prejudices; (3) vanity, which delights to think oneself always right and consistent and disowns fallibility; (4) imitativeness, suggestibility, fashion, which carry us along with the crowd. All these, and nobler things, such as love and fidelity, fix our attention upon whatever seems to support our prejudices, and prevent our attending to any facts or arguments that threaten to overthrow them.
Even when our goal is to find some general truth, the results of systematic investigation can vary in certainty. If Logic were limited to strict proof, it would cover only a small area. Most of our conclusions can only be considered more or less likely. It can even be argued—reasonably—that no judgments about factual matters can go beyond being probable. Some argue that all scientific results should be viewed as representing the average of situations, where deviations are expected. Many issues can only be addressed statistically and through Probability methods. Our everyday beliefs are often accepted without careful examination. However, the goal, and a key feature, of a rational mind is to identify levels of certainty and to hold each judgment with the confidence it merits, weighing the evidence for and against it. It takes a long time and considerable self-discipline to make progress toward rationality, as there are many causes of belief that do not provide solid grounds for it—having no value as evidence. Evidence includes (1) observation; (2) reasoning supported by observation and logical principles; (3) memory—often flawed; (4) testimony—often unreliable, but essential, as all we learn from books or others comes from testimony; (5) the consistency of all our findings. On the flip side, belief is influenced by numerous factors that are not evidence at all: such as (1) desire, which leads us to believe in whatever suits our needs; fear and suspicion, which (ironically) cause us to believe in whatever seems perilous; (2) habit, which resists changes that challenge our biases; (3) vanity, which loves to think of oneself as always correct and consistent while rejecting fallibility; (4) conformity, suggestibility, and trends, which sway us to follow the crowd. All these influences, along with nobler emotions like love and loyalty, direct our focus toward anything that seems to reinforce our biases, hindering our attention to any facts or arguments that might challenge them.
§ 3. Two departments of Logic are usually recognised, Deduction and Induction; that is, to describe them briefly, proof from principles, and proof from facts. Classification is sometimes made a third department; sometimes its topics are distributed amongst those of the former two. In the present work the order adopted is, Deduction in chaps. ii. to xiii.; Induction in chaps. xiii. to xx.; and, lastly, Classification. But such divisions do not represent fundamentally distinct and opposed aspects of the science. For although, in discussing any question with an opponent who makes admissions, it may be possible to combat his views with merely deductive arguments based upon his admissions; yet in any question of general truth, Induction and Deduction are mutually dependent and imply one another.
§ 3. There are typically two branches of Logic recognized: Deduction and Induction. To summarize, Deduction is proof based on principles, while Induction is proof based on facts. Sometimes, Classification is considered a third branch; other times, its topics are included with the first two. In this work, the structure is laid out as follows: Deduction in chapters ii to xiii; Induction in chapters xiii to xx; and finally, Classification. However, these divisions do not reflect fundamentally different and opposing aspects of the science. While it may be possible to argue against an opponent's views using just deductive reasoning based on their admissions, in any matter of general truth, Induction and Deduction rely on and support each other.
This may be seen in one of the above examples. It was argued that a certain metal must be copper, because every metal is copper that turns green when dipped in vinegar. So far the proof appealed to a general proposition, and was deductive. But when we ask how the general proposition is known to be true, experiments or facts must be alleged; and this is inductive evidence. Deduction then depends on Induction. But if we ask, again, how any number of past experiments can prove a general proposition, which [Pg 6]must be good for the future as well as for the past, the uniformity of causation is invoked; that is, appeal is made to a principle, and that again is deductive proof. Induction then depends upon Deduction.
This can be seen in one of the examples mentioned earlier. It was argued that a certain metal must be copper because every metal that turns green when dipped in vinegar is considered copper. So far, the argument relied on a general statement and was deductive. However, when we question how this general statement is known to be true, experiments or facts must be presented; this is inductive evidence. Therefore, deduction relies on induction. But if we further ask how any number of past experiments can validate a general statement that must hold true for the future as well as the past, the consistency of causation is brought into play; that is, an appeal is made to a principle, which again serves as deductive proof. Thus, induction relies on deduction.
We may put it in this way: Deduction depends on Induction, if general propositions are only known to us through the facts: Induction depends on Deduction, because one fact can never prove another, except so far as what is true of the one is true of the other and of any other of the same kind; and because, to exhibit this resemblance of the facts, it must be stated in a general proposition.
We can say it like this: Deduction relies on induction, since we only know general propositions through facts. Induction relies on deduction, because one fact can never prove another unless what’s true for one is also true for the other and for any other similar case. To show this similarity of facts, it needs to be expressed in a general proposition.
§ 4. The use of Logic is often disputed: those who have not studied it, often feel confident of their ability to do without it; those who have studied it, are sometimes disgusted with what they consider to be its superficial analysis of the grounds of evidence, or needless technicality in the discussion of details. As to those who, not having studied Logic, yet despise it, there will be time enough to discuss its utility with them, when they know something about it; and as for those who, having studied it, turn away in disgust, whether they are justified every man must judge for himself, when he has attained to equal proficiency in the subject. Meanwhile, the following considerations may be offered in its favour:
§ 4. The use of Logic is often debated: those who haven't studied it often feel sure they can get by without it; those who have studied it sometimes feel frustrated by what they see as its shallow examination of evidence or pointless technical details. As for those who look down on Logic without having studied it, there will be time to discuss its usefulness with them once they understand it better; and for those who have studied it but still feel turned off, whether they are right or not is something everyone must figure out for themselves once they've reached a similar level of understanding. In the meantime, here are some points to support its value:
Logic states, and partly explains and applies, certain abstract principles which all other sciences take for granted; namely, the axioms above mentioned—the principles of Contradiction, of the Syllogism and of Causation. By exercising the student in the apprehension of these truths, and in the application of them to particular propositions, it educates the power of abstract thought. Every science is a model of method, a discipline in close and consecutive thinking; and this merit Logic ought to possess in a high degree.
Logic lays out and partly explains certain abstract principles that all other sciences assume; specifically, the previously mentioned axioms—the principles of Contradiction, Syllogism, and Causation. By training students to understand these truths and apply them to specific statements, it strengthens their ability to think abstractly. Every science serves as a model of methodology, promoting rigorous and sequential thinking; and Logic should excel in this respect.
For ages Logic has served as an introduction to Philosophy that is, to Metaphysics and speculative Ethics. It [Pg 7]is of old and honourable descent: a man studies Logic in very good company. It is the warp upon which nearly the whole web of ancient, mediæval and modern Philosophy is woven. The history of thought is hardly intelligible without it.
For a long time, Logic has been an entry point into Philosophy, specifically Metaphysics and theoretical Ethics. It has a rich and respected background: studying Logic places a person in esteemed company. It's the foundation on which almost the entire fabric of ancient, medieval, and modern Philosophy is built. The history of thought is almost impossible to understand without it.
As the science of proof, Logic gives an account of the general nature of evidence deductive and inductive, as applied in the physical and social sciences and in the affairs of life. The general nature of such evidence: it would be absurd of the logician to pretend to instruct the chemist, economist and merchant, as to the special character of the evidence requisite in their several spheres of judgment. Still, by investigating the general conditions of proof, he sets every man upon his guard against the insufficiency of evidence.
As the study of proof, Logic explains the general nature of both deductive and inductive evidence, as it's used in the physical and social sciences and in daily life. The general nature of this evidence: it would be ridiculous for a logician to try to teach a chemist, economist, or merchant about the specific type of evidence needed in their fields of expertise. However, by examining the general conditions of proof, he helps everyone to be cautious about the inadequacy of evidence.
One application of the science of proof deserves special mention: namely, to that department of Rhetoric which has been the most developed, relating to persuasion by means of oratory, leader-writing, or pamphleteering. It is usually said that Logic is useful to convince the judgment, not to persuade the will: but one way of persuading the will is to convince the judgment that a certain course is advantageous; and although this is not always the readiest way, it is the most honourable, and leads to the most enduring results. Logic is the backbone of Rhetoric.
One important application of the science of proof is in the field of Rhetoric, particularly in the areas of persuasion through oratory, editorial writing, or pamphleteering. It's often said that Logic helps to convince our judgment, not to sway our will: however, one way to influence the will is by showing the judgment that a certain action is beneficial; while this might not always be the easiest approach, it is the most honorable and leads to lasting outcomes. Logic is the foundation of Rhetoric.
It has been disputed whether Logic is a science or an art; and, in fact, it may be considered in both ways. As a statement of general truths, of their relations to one another, and especially to the first principles, it is a science; but it is an art when, regarding truth as an end desired, it points out some of the means of attaining it—namely, to proceed by a regular method, to test every judgment by the principles of Logic, and to distrust whatever cannot be made consistent with them. Logic does not, in the first place, teach us to reason. We learn to reason as we learn to walk and talk, by the natural growth of our powers with [Pg 8]some assistance from friends and neighbours. The way to develop one's power of reasoning is, first, to set oneself problems and try to solve them. Secondly, since the solving of a problem depends upon one's ability to call to mind parallel cases, one must learn as many facts as possible, and keep on learning all one's life; for nobody ever knew enough. Thirdly one must check all results by the principles of Logic. It is because of this checking, verifying, corrective function of Logic that it is sometimes called a Regulative or Normative Science. It cannot give any one originality or fertility of invention; but it enables us to check our inferences, revise our conclusions, and chasten the vagaries of ambitious speculation. It quickens our sense of bad reasoning both in others and in ourselves. A man who reasons deliberately, manages it better after studying Logic than he could before, if he is sincere about it and has common sense.
There’s been a debate about whether Logic is a science or an art, and it can actually be seen as both. As a framework of general truths and their relationships, especially to fundamental principles, it’s a science. However, when it treats truth as an objective to be achieved, it becomes an art, showing methods to reach that truth—specifically, by following a systematic approach, evaluating every judgment against the principles of Logic, and being skeptical of anything that doesn’t align with those principles. Logic doesn’t primarily teach us how to reason. Just like we learn to walk and talk, we acquire reasoning skills naturally, with some help from friends and family. To enhance our reasoning abilities, we should first challenge ourselves with problems and try to solve them. Secondly, since solving problems relies on recalling similar situations, we should gather as many facts as we can and keep learning throughout our lives because no one ever knows enough. Lastly, we need to verify all results against the principles of Logic. This verification and corrective role is why Logic is sometimes referred to as a Regulative or Normative Science. While it doesn’t provide anyone with creativity or innovative ideas, it does help us check our conclusions, refine our insights, and temper the wild ideas that come from ambitious thinking. It sharpens our awareness of faulty reasoning in ourselves and others. A person who reasons carefully can manage it better after studying Logic than before, as long as they are genuine about it and possess common sense.
(a) Logic is regarded by Spencer as co-ordinate with Mathematics, both being Abstract Sciences—that is, sciences of the relations in which things stand to one another, whatever the particular things may be that are so related; and this view seems to be, on the whole, just—subject, however, to qualifications that will appear presently.
(a) Spencer considers Logic to be on the same level as Mathematics, as they are both Abstract Sciences—that is, sciences of the relationships between things, regardless of what specific things are involved; and this perspective seems generally accurate—though there will be caveats that will be discussed shortly.
Mathematics treats of the relations of all sorts of things considered as quantities, namely, as equal to, or greater or less than, one another. Things may be quantitatively equal or unequal in degree, as in comparing the temperature of bodies; or in duration; or in spatial magnitude, as with lines, superficies, solids; or in number. And it is assumed that the equality or inequality of things that cannot be directly compared, may be proved indirectly on the assumption that 'things equal to the same thing are equal,' etc.
Mathematics deals with the relationships between all kinds of things considered as quantities, meaning they can be equal to, greater than, or less than one another. Things can be quantitatively equal or unequal in degree, like when comparing the temperature of objects; or in duration; or in spatial magnitude, such as lines, surfaces, and solids; or in number. It is also assumed that the equality or inequality of things that cannot be directly compared can be demonstrated indirectly based on the idea that 'things equal to the same thing are equal,' and so on.
Logic also treats of the relations of all sorts of things, but not as to their quantity. It considers (i) that one thing may be like or unlike another in certain attributes, [Pg 9]as that iron is in many ways like tin or lead, and in many ways unlike carbon or sulphur: (ii) that attributes co-exist or coinhere (or do not) in the same subject, as metallic lustre, hardness, a certain atomic weight and a certain specific gravity coinhere in iron: and (iii) that one event follows another (or is the effect of it), as that the placing of iron in water causes it to rust. The relations of likeness and of coinherence are the ground of Classification; for it is by resemblance of coinhering attributes that things form classes: coinherence is the ground of judgments concerning Substance and Attribute, as that iron is metallic; and the relation of succession, in the mode of Causation, is the chief subject of the department of Induction. It is usual to group together these relations of attributes and of order in time, and call them qualitative, in order to contrast them with the quantitative relations which belong to Mathematics. And it is assumed that qualitative relations of things, when they cannot be directly perceived, may be proved indirectly by assuming the axiom of the Syllogism (chap. ix.) and the law of Causation (chap. xiv.).
Logic also looks at the relationships between all kinds of things, but not in terms of their quantity. It considers: (i) how one thing can be similar or different from another in certain characteristics, [Pg 9]like how iron is similar to tin or lead in many ways, but different from carbon or sulfur; (ii) how characteristics can exist together (or not) in the same subject, for example, metallic luster, hardness, a specific atomic weight, and a specific gravity all exist together in iron; and (iii) how one event follows another (or is caused by it), such as how putting iron in water causes it to rust. The relationships of similarity and coexistence are the basis of Classification because things form classes based on the resemblance of shared attributes: coexistence is the foundation for judgments about Substance and Attribute, like saying iron is metallic; and the relationship of succession, in terms of Causation, is the main focus of the area of Induction. It's common to group these relationships of attributes and chronological order together and call them qualitative, to distinguish them from the quantitative relationships that belong to Mathematics. It is assumed that qualitative relationships of things, when they can't be directly observed, can be established indirectly by using the axiom of the Syllogism (chap. ix.) and the law of Causation (chap. xiv.).
So far, then, Logic and Mathematics appear to be co-ordinate and distinct sciences. But we shall see hereafter that the satisfactory treatment of that special order of events in time which constitutes Causation, requires a combination of Logic with Mathematics; and so does the treatment of Probability. And, again, Logic may be said to be, in a certain sense, 'prior to' or 'above' Mathematics as usually treated. For the Mathematics assume that one magnitude must be either equal or unequal to another, and that it cannot be both equal and unequal to it, and thus take for granted the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle; but the statement and elucidation of these Principles are left to Logic (chap. vi.). The Mathematics also classify and define magnitudes, as (in Geometry) triangles, squares, cubes, spheres; but the principles of classification and definition remain for Logic to discuss.
So far, Logic and Mathematics seem to be separate and distinct fields. However, we'll see later that understanding the specific sequence of events over time that makes up Causation needs a blend of Logic and Mathematics, and the same goes for Probability. Moreover, Logic can be seen as somewhat 'prior to' or 'above' Mathematics as it's typically approached. Mathematics assumes that one quantity must either be equal or not equal to another, and that it can't be both at the same time; thus, it relies on the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle. But defining and explaining these Principles is the job of Logic (chap. vi.). Mathematics also categorizes and defines quantities, like (in Geometry) triangles, squares, cubes, and spheres, but the principles behind classification and definition are left for Logic to tackle.
(b) As to the concrete Sciences, such as Astronomy, Chemistry, Zoology, Sociology—Logic (as well as Mathematics) is implied in them all; for all the propositions of which they consist involve causation, co-existence, and class-likeness. Logic is therefore said to be prior to them or above them: meaning by 'prior' not that it should be studied earlier, for that is not a good plan; meaning by 'above' not in dignity, for distinctions of dignity amongst liberal studies are absurd. But it is a philosophical idiom to call the abstract 'prior to,' or 'higher than,' the concrete (see Porphyry's Tree, chap. xxii. § 8); and Logic is more abstract than Astronomy or Sociology. Philosophy may thank that idiom for many a foolish notion.
(b) When it comes to concrete sciences like Astronomy, Chemistry, Zoology, and Sociology, Logic (along with Mathematics) is fundamental to all of them; since the statements they consist of involve causation, co-existence, and classification. Therefore, Logic is considered to be prior to or above them: by 'prior' we don't mean it should be studied first, since that’s not a good approach; and by 'above' we don't mean in importance, as it's silly to rank the significance of liberal studies. However, it's customary in philosophy to refer to the abstract as 'prior to' or 'higher than' the concrete (see Porphyry's Tree, chap. xxii. § 8); and Logic is indeed more abstract than Astronomy or Sociology. Philosophy can thank this idiomatic usage for many misguided ideas.
(c) But, as we have seen, Logic does not investigate the truth, trustworthiness, or validity of its own principles; nor does Mathematics: this task belongs to Metaphysics, or Epistemology, the criticism of knowledge and beliefs.
(c) But, as we’ve seen, Logic doesn’t examine the truth, reliability, or validity of its own principles; nor does Mathematics: this job belongs to Metaphysics or Epistemology, the critique of knowledge and beliefs.
Logic assumes, for example, that things are what to a careful scrutiny they seem to be; that animals, trees, mountains, planets, are bodies with various attributes, existing in space and changing in time; and that certain principles, such as Contradiction and Causation, are true of things and events. But Metaphysicians have raised many plausible objections to these assumptions. It has been urged that natural objects do not really exist on their own account, but only in dependence on some mind that contemplates them, and that even space and time are only our way of perceiving things; or, again, that although things do really exist on their own account, it is in an entirely different way from that in which we know them. As to the principle of Contradiction—that if an object has an attribute, it cannot at the same time and in the same way be without it (e.g., if an animal is conscious, it is false that it is not conscious)—it has been contended that the speciousness of this principle is only due to the obtuseness of our minds, or even to the poverty of language, which [Pg 11]cannot make the fine distinctions that exist in Nature. And as to Causation, it is sometimes doubted whether events always have physical causes; and it is often suggested that, granting they have physical causes, yet these are such as we can neither perceive nor conceive; belonging not to the order of Nature as we know it, but to the secret inwardness and reality of Nature, to the wells and reservoirs of power, not to the spray of the fountain that glitters in our eyes—'occult causes,' in short. Now these doubts and surmises are metaphysical spectres which it remains for Metaphysics to lay. Logic has no direct concern with them (although, of course, metaphysical discussion is expected to be logical), but keeps the plain path of plain beliefs, level with the comprehension of plain men. Metaphysics, as examining the grounds of Logic itself, is sometimes regarded as 'the higher Logic'; and, certainly, the study of Metaphysics is necessary to every one who would comprehend the nature and functions of Logic, or the place of his own mind and of Reason in the world.
Logic assumes, for example, that things are what they appear to be upon careful examination; that animals, trees, mountains, and planets are physical objects with various characteristics, existing in space and changing over time; and that specific principles, like Contradiction and Causation, are true about things and events. However, Metaphysicians have raised several plausible objections to these assumptions. It has been argued that natural objects don't really exist independently but rely on some mind that perceives them, and that even space and time are just our way of understanding things; or, on the other hand, that while things do exist independently, they do so in a way that's completely different from how we know them. Regarding the principle of Contradiction—that if an object has a characteristic, it can't simultaneously lack it (e.g., if an animal is conscious, it can't be true that it is not conscious)—it has been argued that the seeming validity of this principle is simply due to the limitations of our minds or even the inadequacy of language, which cannot articulate the subtle distinctions that exist in Nature. As for Causation, there's sometimes doubt about whether events always have physical causes, and it's often suggested that, even if they do have physical causes, those causes are such that we can't either perceive or conceive them; they don't belong to the Nature we know, but rather to the deeper essence and reality of Nature, to the sources of power, not to the shimmering spray of the fountain that catches our eye—'occult causes,' in short. These doubts and speculations are metaphysical issues that it remains for Metaphysics to address. Logic isn't directly concerned with them (although, of course, metaphysical discussions are expected to be logical), but sticks to the straightforward path of simple beliefs, accessible to ordinary people. Metaphysics, while examining the foundations of Logic itself, is sometimes seen as 'the higher Logic'; and certainly, studying Metaphysics is essential for anyone who wants to understand the nature and functions of Logic, or their own mind and Reason’s place in the world.
(d) The relation of Logic to Psychology will be discussed in the next section.
(d) The relationship between Logic and Psychology will be discussed in the next section.
(e) As a Regulative Science, pointing out the conditions of true inference (within its own sphere), Logic is co-ordinate with (i) Ethics, considered as assigning the conditions of right conduct, and with (ii) Æsthetics, considered as determining the principles of criticism and good taste.
(e) As a Regulative Science, highlighting the conditions for valid reasoning (within its own realm), Logic is aligned with (i) Ethics, which defines the conditions for proper behavior, and with (ii) Æsthetics, which establishes the principles of criticism and good taste.
§ 6. Three principal schools of Logicians are commonly recognised: Nominalist, Conceptualist, and Materialist, who differ as to what it is that Logic really treats of: the Nominalists say, 'of language'; the Conceptualists, 'of thought'; the Materialists, 'of relations of fact.' To illustrate these positions let us take authors who, if some of them are now neglected, have the merit of stating their contrasted views with a distinctness that later refinements tend to obscure.
§ 6. Three main schools of Logicians are commonly recognized: Nominalist, Conceptualist, and Materialist, which differ in what they believe Logic actually deals with: the Nominalists say, 'it deals with language'; the Conceptualists say, 'it deals with thought'; the Materialists say, 'it deals with factual relationships.' To illustrate these positions, let's look at authors who, while some may now be overlooked, have the merit of clearly stating their differing views in a way that later interpretations often obscure.
(a) Whately, a well-known Nominalist, regarded Logic as the Science and Art of Reasoning, but at the same time as "entirely conversant about language"; that is to say, it is the business of Logic to discover those modes of statement which shall ensure the cogency of an argument, no matter what may be the subject under discussion. Thus, All fish are cold-blooded, ∴ some cold-blooded things are fish: this is a sound inference by the mere manner of expression; and equally sound is the inference, All fish are warm-blooded, ∴ some warm-blooded things are fish. The latter proposition may be false, but it follows; and (according to this doctrine) Logic is only concerned with the consistent use of words: the truth or falsity of the proposition itself is a question for Zoology. The short-coming of extreme Nominalism lies in speaking of language as if its meaning were unimportant. But Whately did not intend this: he was a man of great penetration and common-sense.
(a) Whately, a well-known Nominalist, saw Logic as the Science and Art of Reasoning, while also viewing it as "entirely focused on language"; in other words, Logic aims to find ways to present statements that ensure the validity of an argument, regardless of the topic being discussed. For example, All fish are cold-blooded, ∴ some cold-blooded things are fish: this conclusion is valid purely based on how it’s stated; and the inference All fish are warm-blooded, ∴ some warm-blooded things are fish is equally valid. The latter statement may be false, but it logically follows; and (according to this view) Logic is only concerned with using words consistently: whether the statement is true or false is a matter for Zoology. The flaw of extreme Nominalism is treating language as if its meaning doesn’t matter. However, Whately did not mean this: he was a person of deep insight and common sense.
(b) Hamilton, our best-known Conceptualist, defined Logic as the science of the "formal laws of thought," and "of thought as thought," that is, without regard to the matter thought about. Just as Whately regarded Logic as concerned merely with cogent forms of statement, so Hamilton treated it as concerned merely with the necessary relations of thought. This doctrine is called Conceptualism, because the simplest element of thought is the Concept; that is, an abstract idea, such as is signified by the word man, planet, colour, virtue; not a representative or generic image, but the thought of all attributes common to any class of things. Men, planets, colours, virtuous actions or characters, have, severally, something in common on account of which they bear these general names; and the thought of what they have in common, as the ground of these names, is a Concept. To affirm or deny one concept of another, as Some men are virtuous, or No man is perfectly virtuous, is to form a Judgment, corresponding to the Proposition of which the other schools of Logic discourse.[Pg 13] Conceptualism, then, investigates the conditions of consistent judgment.
(b) Hamilton, our most well-known Conceptualist, defined Logic as the science of the "formal laws of thought" and "thought as thought," meaning it focuses on the process of thinking itself, without considering the content being thought about. Just as Whately saw Logic as dealing only with clear forms of expression, Hamilton approached it as concerned only with the necessary connections of thought. This idea is known as Conceptualism because the simplest part of thought is the Concept; that is, an abstract idea, like what is represented by the word man, planet, colour, virtue; not a representative or generic image, but the idea of all the characteristics shared by any group of things. Men, planets, colours, virtuous actions, or characters each have something in common, which is why they have these general names; and the thought of what they share, as the basis for these names, is a Concept. To affirm or deny one concept in relation to another, as in Some men are virtuous or No man is perfectly virtuous, is to form a Judgment, which aligns with the Proposition that other schools of Logic discuss.[Pg 13] Conceptualism, then, explores the conditions for consistent judgment.
To distinguish Logic from Psychology is most important in connection with Conceptualism. Concepts and Judgments being mental acts, or products of mental activity, it is often thought that Logic must be a department of Psychology. It is recognised of course, that Psychology deals with much more than Logic does, with sensation, pleasure and pain, emotion, volition; but in the region of the intellect, especially in its most deliberate and elaborate processes, namely, conception, judgment, and reasoning, Logic and Psychology seem to occupy common ground. In fact, however, the two sciences have little in common except a few general terms, and even these they employ in different senses. It is usual to point out that Psychology tries to explain the subjective processes of conception, judgment and reasoning, and to give their natural history; but that Logic is wholly concerned with the results of such processes, with concepts, judgments and reasonings, and merely with the validity of the results, that is, with their truth or consistency; whilst Psychology has nothing to do with their validity, but only with their causes. Besides, the logical judgment (in Formal Logic at least) is quite a different thing from the psychological: the latter involves feeling and belief, whereas the former is merely a given relation of concepts. S is P: that is a model logical judgment; there can be no question of believing it; but it is logically valid if M is P and S is M. When, again, in Logic, one deals with belief, it depends upon evidence; whereas, in Psychology belief is shown to depend upon causes which may have evidentiary value or may not; for Psychology explains quite impartially the growth of scientific insight and the growth of prejudice.
To separate Logic from Psychology is really important when discussing Conceptualism. Since concepts and judgments are mental acts or results of mental activity, many people think that Logic should be a branch of Psychology. It's recognized, of course, that Psychology covers a lot more than Logic, including sensation, pleasure and pain, emotions, and willpower; but in terms of intellect, especially in its most careful and detailed processes like conception, judgment, and reasoning, Logic and Psychology seem to overlap. In reality, however, the two fields have little in common aside from some general terms, and they even use these terms in different ways. It's common to note that Psychology attempts to explain the subjective processes of conception, judgment, and reasoning and to provide their natural history; while Logic focuses entirely on the results of these processes—concepts, judgments, and reasonings—and on the validity of these results, meaning their truth or consistency. Psychology, on the other hand, is unconcerned with the validity of these results and only looks at their causes. Additionally, the logical judgment (at least in Formal Logic) is quite different from the psychological judgment: the latter includes feelings and beliefs, while the former is simply a particular relationship between concepts. S is P: that's a standard logical judgment; there's no question of believing it; but it's logically valid if M is P and S is M. In Logic, when dealing with belief, it's based on evidence; whereas in Psychology, belief depends on causes that may or may not have evidential value; Psychology objectively explains both the development of scientific understanding and the emergence of prejudice.
(c) Mill, Bain, and Venn are the chief Materialist logicians; and to guard against the error of confounding Materialism in Logic with the ontological doctrine that nothing exists but[Pg 14] Matter, it may suffice to remember that in Metaphysics all these philosophers are Idealists. Materialism in Logic consists in regarding propositions as affirming or denying relations (cf. § 5) between matters-of-fact in the widest sense; not only physical facts, but ideas, social and moral relations; it consists, in short, in attending to the meaning of propositions. It treats the first principles of Contradiction and Causation as true of things so far as they are known to us, and not merely as conditions or tendencies of thought; and it takes these principles as conditions of right thinking, because they seem to hold good of Nature and human life.
(c) Mill, Bain, and Venn are the main Materialist logicians. To avoid mixing up Materialism in Logic with the belief that nothing exists except for Matter, it's helpful to remember that in Metaphysics, all these philosophers are Idealists. Materialism in Logic involves seeing propositions as either affirming or denying relationships (cf. § 5) between facts in the broadest sense; this includes not just physical facts, but also ideas, as well as social and moral relationships. In short, it focuses on the meaning of propositions. It considers the basic principles of Contradiction and Causation as true of things as far as we understand them, not just as conditions or tendencies of thought. It views these principles as essential for right thinking because they seem applicable to Nature and human life.
To these differences of opinion it will be necessary to recur in the next chapter (§ 4); but here I may observe that it is easy to exaggerate their importance in Logic. There is really little at issue between schools of logicians as such, and as far as their doctrines run parallel; it is on the metaphysical grounds of their study, or as to its scope and comprehension, that they find a battle-field. The present work generally proceeds upon the third, or Materialist doctrine. If Deduction and Induction are regarded as mutually dependent parts of one science, uniting the discipline of consistent discourse with the method of investigating laws of physical phenomena, the Materialist doctrine, that the principles of Logic are founded on fact, seems to be the most natural way of thinking. But if the unity of Deduction and Induction is not disputed by the other schools, the Materialist may regard them as allies exhibiting in their own way the same body of truths. The Nominalist may certainly claim that his doctrine is indispensable: consistently cogent forms of statement are necessary both to the Conceptualist and to the Materialist; neither the relations of thought nor those of fact can be arrested or presented without the aid of language or some equivalent system of signs. The Conceptualist may urge that the Nominalist's forms of statement and argument exist for the sake of their meaning, namely, judgments [Pg 15]and reasonings; and that the Materialist's laws of Nature are only judgments founded upon our conceptions of Nature; that the truth of observations and experiments depends upon our powers of perception; that perception is inseparable from understanding, and that a system of Induction may be constructed upon the axiom of Causation, regarded as a principle of Reason, just as well as by considering it as a law of Nature, and upon much the same lines. The Materialist, admitting all this, may say that a judgment is only the proximate meaning of a proposition, and that the ultimate meaning, the meaning of the judgment itself, is always some matter-of-fact; that the other schools have not hitherto been eager to recognise the unity of Deduction and Induction or to investigate the conditions of trustworthy experiments and observations within the limits of human understanding; that thought is itself a sort of fact, as complex in its structure, as profound in its relations, as subtle in its changes as any other fact, and therefore at least as hard to know; that to turn away from the full reality of thought in perception, and to confine Logic to artificially limited concepts, is to abandon the effort to push method to the utmost and to get as near truth as possible; and that as to Causation being a principle of Reason rather than of Nature, the distinction escapes his apprehension, since Nature seems to be that to which our private minds turn upon questions of Causation for correction and instruction; so that if he does not call Nature the Universal Reason, it is because he loves severity of style.
To address these differing opinions, we will revisit them in the next chapter (§ 4); but for now, I want to point out that it's easy to overstate their significance in Logic. There is actually very little disagreement between different schools of logicians, especially when their ideas align; the real contention lies in the metaphysical aspects of their studies, or in questions about their scope and understanding. This work generally follows the third, or Materialist, perspective. If we see Deduction and Induction as interdependent elements of a single science that combines the discipline of coherent discourse with the method of studying the laws of physical phenomena, then the Materialist view—that the principles of Logic are based on facts—appears to be the most intuitive approach. However, even if the other schools do not challenge the unity of Deduction and Induction, the Materialist might view them as partners that reveal the same set of truths in their own ways. The Nominalist can argue that their perspective is essential: consistently clear forms of expression are vital for both the Conceptualist and the Materialist; neither thoughts nor facts can be isolated or represented without the use of language or an alternative system of signs. The Conceptualist might argue that the Nominalist’s forms of expression and reasoning exist primarily for their meanings—specifically, judgments [Pg 15] and logical deductions; and that the Materialist's natural laws are merely judgments based on our understanding of Nature; he might claim that the validity of observations and experiments relies on our perceptual abilities; that perception is intertwined with understanding and that a system of Induction can be built on the premise of Causation viewed as a principle of Reason, just as effectively as it can be on the basis of a law of Nature, and following a similar logic. The Materialist, who agrees with this, might argue that a judgment is only the immediate meaning of a proposition, and that its ultimate meaning—the meaning of the judgment itself—always relates to some factual matter; that the other schools have not shown much eagerness to acknowledge the unity of Deduction and Induction or to explore the conditions for reliable experiments and observations within the bounds of human understanding; that thought itself is a type of fact, as intricate in its composition, as deep in its connections, and as subtle in its variations as any other fact, making it just as challenging to comprehend; that to ignore the complete reality of thought in perception and to restrict Logic to overly simplified concepts is to give up on the ambition to refine method and approach truth as closely as possible; and regarding Causation being seen as a principle of Reason rather than of Nature, he finds this distinction hard to grasp since Nature seems to be the reference point to which our individual minds turn for guidance and correction on matters of Causation; so if he doesn’t refer to Nature as the Universal Reason, it’s simply because he prefers a more rigid style.
CHAPTER II
GENERAL ANALYSIS OF PROPOSITIONS
It is true that other kinds of sentences, optative, imperative, interrogative, exclamatory, if they express or imply an assertion, are not beyond the view of Logic; but before treating such sentences, Logic, for greater precision, reduces them to their equivalent sentences indicative. Thus, I wish it were summer may be understood to mean, The coming of summer is an object of my desire. Thou shalt not kill may be interpreted as Murderers are in danger of the judgment. Interrogatories, when used in argument, if their form is affirmative, have negative force, and affirmative force if their form is negative. Thus, Do hypocrites love virtue? anticipates the answer, No. Are not traitors the vilest of mankind? anticipates the answer, Yes. So that the logical form of these sentences is, Hypocrites are not lovers of virtue; Traitors are the vilest of mankind. Impersonal propositions, such as It rains, are easily rendered into logical forms of equivalent meaning, thus: Rain is falling; or (if that be tautology), The clouds are raining. Exclamations may seem capricious, but are often part of the argument. Shade of Chatham! usually means Chatham, being aware of our present foreign policy, is much disgusted.[Pg 17] It is in fact, an appeal to authority, without the inconvenience of stating what exactly it is that the authority declares.
It is true that other types of sentences, like wishes, commands, questions, and exclamations, are not outside the realm of Logic if they express or imply an assertion. However, before examining these kinds of sentences, Logic, for the sake of clarity, simplifies them into equivalent indicative sentences. For example, I wish it were summer can be understood as The arrival of summer is something I desire. Thou shalt not kill can be interpreted as Murderers face judgment. Questions, when used in arguments, have a negative implication if they are phrased affirmatively and a positive implication if stated negatively. For instance, Do hypocrites love virtue? suggests the answer, No. Similarly, Are not traitors the vilest of mankind? suggests the response, Yes. Therefore, the logical structure of these sentences is Hypocrites do not love virtue and Traitors are the vilest of mankind. Impersonal statements, such as It rains, can easily be transformed into logical equivalents, such as Rain is falling; or (if that’s a tautology), The clouds are raining. Exclamations may seem erratic but often contribute to the argument. For instance, Shade of Chatham! usually means Chatham, aware of our current foreign policy, is quite upset.[Pg 17] It is essentially an appeal to authority without having to specify what exactly that authority states.
§ 2. But even sentences indicative may not be expressed in the way most convenient to logicians. Salt dissolves in water is a plain enough statement; but the logician prefers to have it thus: Salt is soluble in water. For he says that a proposition is analysable into three elements: (1) a Subject (as Salt) about which something is asserted or denied; (2) a Predicate (as soluble in water) which is asserted or denied of the Subject, and (3) the Copula (is or are, or is not or are not), the sign of relation between the Subject and Predicate. The Subject and Predicate are called the Terms of the proposition: and the Copula may be called the sign of predication, using the verb 'to predicate' indefinitely for either 'to affirm' or 'to deny.' Thus S is P means that the term P is given as related in some way to the term S. We may, therefore, further define a Proposition as 'a sentence in which one term is predicated of another.'
§ 2. However, even straightforward sentences may not be stated in the way that is easiest for logicians. Salt dissolves in water is a clear statement; but the logician prefers to say it like this: Salt is soluble in water. This is because he believes that a statement can be broken down into three parts: (1) a Subject (like Salt) that something is said about; (2) a Predicate (like soluble in water) that is affirmed or denied about the Subject, and (3) the Copula (is or are, or is not or are not), which indicates the relationship between the Subject and Predicate. The Subject and Predicate are called the Terms of the statement: and the Copula can be referred to as the sign of predication, using the verb 'to predicate' broadly to mean either 'to affirm' or 'to deny.' Thus, S is P indicates that the term P is presented as related in some way to the term S. Therefore, we can also define a Proposition as 'a sentence in which one term is predicated of another.'
In such a proposition as Salt dissolves, the copula (is) is contained in the predicate, and, besides the subject, only one element is exhibited: it is therefore said to be secundi adjacentis. When all three parts are exhibited, as in Salt is soluble, the proposition is said to be tertii adjacentis.
In a statement like Salt dissolves, the verb (is) is included in the description, and besides the subject, there's only one component shown: it's therefore called secundi adjacentis. When all three parts are present, as in Salt is soluble, the statement is referred to as tertii adjacentis.
For the ordinary purposes of Logic, in predicating attributes of a thing or class of things, the copula is, or is not, sufficiently represents the relation of subject and predicate; but when it is desirable to realise fully the nature of the relation involved, it may be better to use a more explicit form. Instead of saying Salt—is—soluble, we may say Solubility—coinheres with—the nature of salt, or The putting of salt in water—is a cause of—its dissolving: thus expanding the copula into a full expression of the relation we have in view, whether coinherence or causation.
For everyday logic, when assigning characteristics to something or a group of things, the terms is or is not are enough to represent the relationship between the subject and the predicate. However, if we want to fully capture the nature of that relationship, it might be better to use a clearer phrasing. Instead of saying Salt—is—soluble, we could say Solubility—coexists with—the nature of salt, or Putting salt in water—is a cause of—its dissolving: this way, we expand the copula into a complete expression of the relationship we are referring to, whether it’s coexistence or causation.
§ 3. The sentences of ordinary discourse are, indeed, for [Pg 18]the most part, longer and more complicated than the logical form of propositions; it is in order to prove them, or to use them in the proof of other propositions, that they are in Logic reduced as nearly as possible to such simple but explicit expressions as the above (tertii adjacentis). A Compound Proposition, reducible to two or more simple ones, is said to be exponible.
§ 3. The sentences we usually use in conversation are, for the most part, longer and more complex than the straightforward logical structure of propositions; they are simplified in Logic to be as clear and explicit as possible for proving them or using them to prove other propositions (like the aforementioned tertii adjacentis). A compound proposition that can be broken down into two or more simple ones is referred to as exponible.
The modes of compounding sentences are explained in every grammar-book. One of the commonest forms is the copulative, such as Salt is both savoury and wholesome, equivalent to two simple propositions: Salt is savoury; Salt is wholesome. Pure water is neither sapid nor odorous, equivalent to Water is not sapid; Water is not odorous. Or, again, Tobacco is injurious, but not when used in moderation, equivalent to Much tobacco is injurious; a little is not.
The ways to combine sentences are covered in every grammar book. One of the most common forms is the copulative, like Salt is both savory and healthy, which is the same as two simple statements: Salt is savory; Salt is healthy. Pure water is neither tasty nor smelly, which is equivalent to Water is not tasty; Water is not smelly. Or, Tobacco is harmful, but not when used in moderation, which means Too much tobacco is harmful; a little is not.
Another form of Exponible is the Exceptive, as Kladderadatsch is published daily, except on week-days, equivalent to Kladderadatsch is published on Sunday; it is not published any other day. Still another Exponible is the Exclusive, as Only men use fire, equivalent to Men are users of fire; No other animals are. Exceptive and exclusive sentences are, however, equivalent forms; for we may say, Kladderadatsch is published only on Sunday; and No animals use fire, except men.
Another type of Exponible is the Exceptive, as Kladderadatsch is published daily, except on weekdays, which is the same as saying Kladderadatsch is published on Sunday; it is not published any other day. Another form of Exponible is the Exclusive, as in Only men use fire, which is equivalent to Men are users of fire; No other animals are. However, exceptive and exclusive sentences are equivalent forms; we can say, Kladderadatsch is published only on Sunday; and No animals use fire, except men.
There are other compound sentences that are not exponible, since, though they contain two or more verbal clauses, the construction shows that these are inseparable. Thus, If cats are scarce, mice are plentiful, contains two verbal clauses; but if cats are scarce is conditional, not indicative; and mice are plentiful is subject to the condition that cats are scarce. Hence the whole sentence is called a Conditional Proposition. For the various forms of Conditional Propositions see chap. v. § 4.
There are other compound sentences that can't be separated because, even though they have two or more clauses, it's clear that these are linked. For example, If cats are scarce, mice are plentiful has two clauses; however, if cats are scarce is a condition, not a statement; and mice are plentiful depends on the condition that cats are scarce. Therefore, the entire sentence is known as a Conditional Proposition. For the different types of Conditional Propositions, see chap. v. § 4.
But, in fact, to find the logical force of recognised grammatical forms is the least of a logician's difficulties in [Pg 19]bringing the discourses of men to a plain issue. Metaphors, epigrams, innuendoes and other figures of speech present far greater obstacles to a lucid reduction whether for approval or refutation. No rules can be given for finding everybody's meaning. The poets have their own way of expressing themselves; sophists, too, have their own way. And the point often lies in what is unexpressed. Thus, "barbarous nations make, the civilised write history," means that civilised nations do not make history, which none is so brazen as openly to assert. Or, again, "Alcibiades is dead, but X is still with us"; the whole meaning of this 'exponible' is that X would be the lesser loss to society. Even an epithet or a suffix may imply a proposition: This personage may mean X is a pretentious nobody.
But really, figuring out the logical force of recognized grammatical forms is the least of a logician's challenges in [Pg 19]bringing people's discussions to a clear conclusion. Metaphors, clever statements, insinuations, and other figures of speech create much bigger hurdles to a clear analysis, whether for agreement or disagreement. There are no rules for uncovering everyone’s meaning. Poets have their own way of expressing themselves, and so do sophists. Often, the key lies in what isn't said. For example, the phrase "barbarous nations make, the civilized write history" suggests that civilized nations don’t actually create history, a point that no one is bold enough to state directly. Similarly, "Alcibiades is dead, but X is still with us" implies that X would be the lesser loss to society. Even a single descriptor or suffix can imply a whole idea: This personage might suggest X is a pretentious nobody.
How shall we interpret such illusive predications except by cultivating our literary perceptions, by reading the most significant authors until we are at home with them? But, no doubt, to disentangle the compound propositions, and to expand the abbreviations of literature and conversation, is a useful logical exercise. And if it seem a laborious task thus to reduce to its logical elements a long argument in a speech or treatise, it should be observed that, as a rule, in a long discourse only a few sentences are of principal importance to the reasoning, the rest being explanatory or illustrative digression, and that a close scrutiny of these cardinal sentences will frequently dispense us from giving much attention to the rest.
How should we interpret such elusive statements except by sharpening our literary understanding, by reading the most important authors until we're comfortable with them? However, it's certainly useful to untangle complex ideas and break down the shorthand of literature and conversation as a logical exercise. While it may seem like a tedious task to simplify a long argument in a speech or essay to its logical parts, it's worth noting that, generally, in a lengthy discussion, only a few sentences are crucial for the reasoning, with the rest being additional explanations or side notes. A careful examination of these key sentences often allows us to pay less attention to the rest.
§ 4. But now, returning to the definition of a Proposition given in § 2, that it is 'a sentence in which one term is predicated of another,' we must consider what is the import of such predication. For the definition, as it stands, seems to be purely Nominalist. Is a proposition nothing more than a certain synthesis of words; or, is it meant to correspond with something further, a synthesis of ideas, or a relation of facts?
§ 4. But now, going back to the definition of a Proposition given in § 2, that it is 'a sentence in which one term is applied to another,' we must think about what this application really means. The definition, as it is, seems to be purely Nominalist. Is a proposition just a specific combination of words, or is it intended to relate to something more, like a combination of ideas or a relation of facts?
Conceptualist logicians, who speak of judgments instead [Pg 20]of propositions, of course define the judgment in their own language. According to Hamilton, it is "a recognition of the relation of congruence or confliction in which two concepts stand to each other." To lighten the sentence, I have omitted one or two qualifications (Hamilton's Lectures on Logic, xiii.). "Thus," he goes on "if we compare the thoughts water, iron, and rusting, we find them congruent, and connect them into a single thought, thus: water rusts iron—in that case we form a judgment." When a judgment is expressed in words, he says, it is called a proposition.
Conceptualist logicians, who talk about judgments instead of propositions, define judgment in their own terms. According to Hamilton, it's "a recognition of the relationship of agreement or conflict between two concepts." To simplify, I've left out one or two qualifiers (Hamilton's Lectures on Logic, xiii.). "So," he continues, "if we compare the ideas of water, iron, and rusting, we see they match up and link them into one idea: water rusts iron—in that situation, we create a judgment." He states that when a judgment is put into words, it's called a proposition.
But has a proposition no meaning beyond the judgment it expresses? Mill, who defines it as "a portion of discourse in which a predicate is affirmed or denied of a subject" (Logic, Book 1., chap. iv. § 1.), proceeds to inquire into the import of propositions (Book 1., chap. v.), and finds three classes of them: (a) those in which one proper name is predicated of another; and of these Hobbes's Nominalist definition is adequate, namely, that a proposition asserts or denies that the predicate is a name for the same thing as the subject, as Tully is Cicero.
But does a proposition have any meaning beyond the judgment it expresses? Mill, who defines it as "a portion of discourse in which a predicate is affirmed or denied of a subject" (Logic, Book 1., chap. iv. § 1.), goes on to explore the meaning of propositions (Book 1., chap. v.) and identifies three categories of them: (a) those where one proper name is predicated of another; and among these, Hobbes's Nominalist definition is sufficient, namely, that a proposition asserts or denies that the predicate is a name for the same entity as the subject, as in Tully is Cicero.
(b) Propositions in which the predicate means a part (or the whole) of what the subject means, as Horses are animals, Man is a rational animal. These are Verbal Propositions (see below: chap. v. § 6), and their import consists in affirming or denying a coincidence between the meanings of names, as The meaning of 'animal' is part of the meaning of 'horse.' They are partial or complete definitions.
(b) Statements where the predicate refers to a part (or the whole) of what the subject refers to, such as Horses are animals and Man is a rational animal. These are called Verbal Propositions (see below: chap. v. § 6), and their significance lies in confirming or denying a connection between the meanings of the terms, as in The meaning of 'animal' is part of the meaning of 'horse.' They serve as partial or complete definitions.
But (c) there are also Real Propositions, whose predicates do not mean the same as their subjects, and whose import consists in affirming or denying one of five different kinds of matter of fact: (1) That the subject exists, or does not; as if we say The bison exists, The great auk is extinct. (2) Co-existence, as Man is mortal; that is, the being subject to death coinheres with the qualities on account of which we call certain objects men. (3) Succession, as Night follows day.[Pg 21] (4) Causation (a particular kind of Succession), as Water rusts iron. (5) Resemblance, as The colour of this geranium is like that of a soldier's coat, or A = B.
But (c) there are also Real Propositions, where the predicates don't mean the same as their subjects, and their significance lies in affirming or denying one of five different types of facts: (1) Whether the subject exists or not; for example, The bison exists, The great auk is extinct. (2) Co-existence, like Man is mortal; that is, being subject to death is inherent to the traits we use to identify certain things as men. (3) Succession, such as Night follows day.[Pg 21] (4) Causation (a specific type of Succession), as in Water rusts iron. (5) Resemblance, like The color of this geranium is similar to that of a soldier's coat, or A = B.
On comparing this list of real predications with the list of logical relations given above (chap. i. § 5 (a)), it will be seen that the two differ only in this, that I have there omitted simple Existence. Nothing simply exists, unrelated either in Nature or in knowledge. Such a proposition as The bison exists may, no doubt, be used in Logic (subject to interpretation) for the sake of custom or for the sake of brevity; but it means that some specimens are still to be found in N. America, or in Zoological gardens.
On comparing this list of real statements with the list of logical relationships given above (chap. i. § 5 (a)), you'll see that the two differ only in that I've left out simple Existence. Nothing simply exists without being connected to either Nature or knowledge. A statement like The bison exists can certainly be used in Logic (with some interpretation) for the sake of tradition or brevity; but it implies that some bison can still be found in North America or in zoological gardens.
Controversy as to the Import of Propositions really turns upon a difference of opinion as to the scope of Logic and the foundations of knowledge. Mill was dissatisfied with the "congruity" of concepts as the basis of a judgment. Clearly, mere congruity does not justify belief. In the proposition Water rusts iron, the concepts water, rust and iron may be congruous, but does any one assert their connection on that ground? In the proposition Murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims, the concepts victim, murderer, ghost have a high degree of congruity; yet, unfortunately, I cannot believe it: there seems to be no such cheap defence of innocence. Now, Mill held that Logic is concerned with the grounds of belief, and that the scope of Logic includes Induction as well as Deduction; whereas, according to Hamilton, Induction is only Modified Logic, a mere appendix to the theory of the "forms of thought as thought." Indeed, Mill endeavoured in his Logic to probe the grounds of belief deeper than usual, and introduced a good deal of Metaphysics—either too much or not enough—concerning the ground of axioms. But, at any rate, his great point was that belief, and therefore (for the most part) the Real Proposition, is concerned not merely with the relations of words, or even of ideas, but with matters of fact; that is, both propositions and judgments [Pg 22]point to something further, to the relations of things which we can examine, not merely by thinking about them (comparing them in thought), but by observing them with the united powers of thought and perception. This is what convinces us that water rusts iron: and the difficulty of doing this is what prevents our feeling sure that murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims. Hence, although Mill's definition of a proposition, given above, is adequate for propositions in general; yet that kind of proposition (the Real) with regard to which Logic (in Mill's view) investigates the conditions of proof, may be more explicitly and pertinently defined as 'a predication concerning the relation of matters of fact.'
Controversy about the Meaning of Propositions really comes down to differing opinions about the scope of Logic and the foundations of knowledge. Mill was dissatisfied with relying on the "congruity" of concepts as the basis for a judgment. Clearly, mere congruity doesn’t justify belief. In the statement Water rusts iron, the concepts water, rust, and iron might fit together, but does anyone claim a connection based on that alone? In the statement Murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims, the concepts victim, murderer, ghost are highly congruent; yet, unfortunately, I can’t believe it: there seems to be no easy defense of innocence. Mill argued that Logic is about the grounds of belief and that Logic includes both Induction and Deduction; whereas, Hamilton suggested that Induction is only Modified Logic, essentially a supplement to the theory of "forms of thought." Indeed, in his Logic, Mill aimed to explore the grounds of belief more deeply than usual and introduced quite a bit of Metaphysics—either too much or not enough—regarding the basis of axioms. But, in any case, his main point was that belief, and thus (mostly) the Real Proposition, is concerned not just with the relationships of words or even ideas, but with factual matters; that is, both propositions and judgments [Pg 22]point to something beyond, to the relationships of things that we can examine, not just by thinking about them (comparing them in thought), but by observing them through the combined powers of thought and perception. This is what convinces us that water rusts iron: and the challenge of doing this is what makes us unsure that murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims. Therefore, although Mill's definition of a proposition, mentioned above, is sufficient for propositions in general, that specific type of proposition (the Real), which Logic (in Mill's opinion) investigates regarding the conditions of proof, could be more clearly defined as 'a statement about the relationship of factual matters.'
§ 5. This leads to a very important distinction to which we shall often have to refer in subsequent pages—namely, the distinction between the Form and the Matter of a proposition or of an argument. The distinction between Form and Matter, as it is ordinarily employed, is easily understood. An apple growing in the orchard and a waxen apple on the table may have the same shape or form, but they consist of different materials; two real apples may have the same shape, but contain distinct ounces of apple-stuff, so that after one is eaten the other remains to be eaten. Similarly, tables may have the same shape, though one be made of marble, another of oak, another of iron. The form is common to several things, the matter is peculiar to each. Metaphysicians have carried the distinction further: apples, they say, may have not only the same outward shape, but the same inward constitution, which, therefore, may be called the Form of apple-stuff itself—namely, a certain pulpiness, juiciness, sweetness, etc.; qualities common to all dessert apples: yet their Matter is different, one being here, another there—differing in place or time, if in nothing else. The definition of a species is the form of every specimen of it.
§ 5. This brings us to a crucial distinction that we'll refer to frequently in the pages ahead—specifically, the difference between the Form and the Matter of a proposition or argument. The distinction between Form and Matter is usually straightforward. An apple growing in an orchard and a wax apple on a table might share the same shape or form, but they are made of different materials; two real apples might look alike, but they contain different amounts of apple content, which means after one is eaten, the other is still there to eat. Similarly, tables can have the same shape, even if one is made of marble, another of oak, and another of iron. The form is shared among several things, while the matter is unique to each one. Metaphysicians have taken this distinction further: they argue that apples might not only share the same outward appearance but also the same internal makeup, which can be referred to as the Form of apple content itself—like a certain level of pulpiness, juiciness, sweetness, etc.; qualities found in all dessert apples. Yet their Matter is distinct, with one being here and another there—differing in location or time, if nothing else. The definition of a species is the form common to every example of it.
To apply this distinction to the things of Logic: it is easy [Pg 23]to see how two propositions may have the same Form but different Matter: not using 'Form' in the sense of 'shape,' but for that which is common to many things, in contrast with that which is peculiar to each. Thus, All male lions are tawny and All water is liquid at 50° Fahrenheit, are two propositions that have the same form, though their matter is entirely different. They both predicate something of the whole of their subjects, though their subjects are different, and so are the things predicated of them. Again, All male lions have tufted tails and All male lions have manes, are two propositions having the same form and, in their subjects, the same matter, but different matter in their predicates. If, however, we take two such propositions as these: All male lions have manes and Some male lions have manes, here the matter is the same in both, but the form is different—in the first, predication is made concerning every male lion; in the second of only some male lions; the first is universal, the second is particular. Or, again, if we take Some tigers are man-eaters and Some tigers are not man-eaters, here too the matter is the same, but the form is different; for the first proposition is affirmative, whilst the second is negative.
To apply this distinction to logic: it's easy [Pg 23]to see how two statements can have the same structure but different content: using 'structure' not in the sense of 'shape,' but for what is common to multiple things, contrasting with what is unique to each. So, All male lions are tawny and All water is liquid at 50° Fahrenheit are two statements that have the same structure, even though their content is completely different. They both make a claim about all of their subjects, even though the subjects are different, along with the claims made about them. Similarly, All male lions have tufted tails and All male lions have manes are two statements with the same structure and the same content in their subjects, but different content in their claims. If we look at two statements like these: All male lions have manes and Some male lions have manes, the content is the same in both, but the structure is different—in the first, a claim is made about every male lion; in the second, only about some male lions; the first is universal, the second is particular. Or, if we take Some tigers are man-eaters and Some tigers are not man-eaters, the content is again the same, but the structure is different; because the first statement is affirmative, while the second is negative.
§ 6. Now, according to Hamilton and Whately, pure Logic has to do only with the Form of propositions and arguments. As to their Matter, whether they are really true in fact, that is a question, they said, not for Logic, but for experience, or for the special sciences. But Mill desired so to extend logical method as to test the material truth of propositions: he thought that he could expound a method by which experience itself and the conclusions of the special sciences may be examined.
§ 6. According to Hamilton and Whately, pure Logic concerns itself only with the structure of propositions and arguments. Whether those propositions are actually true is a matter for experience or specific sciences, they argued. However, Mill wanted to broaden the scope of logical method to assess the material truth of propositions. He believed he could articulate a method to evaluate both experience and the findings of the specific sciences.
To this method it may be objected, that the claim to determine Material Truth takes for granted that the order of Nature will remain unchanged, that (for example) water not only at present is a liquid at 50° Fahrenheit, but will always be so; whereas (although we have no reason to expect such a thing) the order of Nature may alter—it is at [Pg 24]least supposable—and in that event water may freeze at such a temperature. Any matter of fact, again, must depend on observation, either directly, or by inference—as when something is asserted about atoms or ether. But observation and material inference are subject to the limitations of our faculties; and however we may aid observation by microscopes and micrometers, it is still observation; and however we may correct our observations by repetition, comparison and refined mathematical methods of making allowances, the correction of error is only an approximation to accuracy. Outside of Formal Reasoning, suspense of judgment is your only attitude.
One might argue against this method by saying that the claim to determine Material Truth assumes that the laws of Nature will stay the same, meaning that (for example) water is currently a liquid at 50° Fahrenheit and will always be that way. However, even though we have no reason to think otherwise, it's conceivable that the laws of Nature could change—and if that happens, water might freeze at that temperature. Any fact must rely on observation, either directly or through inference—like when something is said about atoms or ether. But our observations and inferences about materials are limited by our abilities; even if we enhance our observation with tools like microscopes and micrometers, it remains observation. And while we can refine our observations by repeating them, comparing them, and applying advanced mathematical adjustments, correcting errors is just an approximation of true accuracy. Outside of Formal Reasoning, the only appropriate stance is to withhold judgment.
But such objections imply that nothing short of absolute truth has any value; that all our discussions and investigations in science or social affairs are without logical criteria; that Logic must be confined to symbols, and considered entirely as mental gymnastics. In this book prominence will be given to the character of Logic as a formal science, and it will also be shown that Induction itself may be treated formally; but it will be assumed that logical forms are valuable as representing the actual relations of natural and social phenomena.
But these objections suggest that nothing less than absolute truth holds any value; that all our discussions and inquiries in science or social issues lack logical standards; that Logic should be limited to symbols and viewed solely as mental exercise. In this book, we will highlight the nature of Logic as a formal science, and we will also demonstrate that Induction can be approached formally; however, we will assume that logical forms are valuable for representing the real relationships found in natural and social phenomena.
It is a common and convenient practice to illustrate logical doctrines by examples: to show what is meant by a Proposition we may give salt is soluble, or water rusts iron: the copulative exponible is exemplified by salt is savoury and wholesome; and so on. But this procedure has some disadvantages: it is often cumbrous; and it may distract the reader's attention from the point to be explained by exciting his interest in the special fact of the illustration. Clearly, too, so far as Logic is formal, no particular matter [Pg 25]of fact can adequately illustrate any of its doctrines. Accordingly, writers on Logic employ letters of the alphabet instead of concrete terms, (say) X instead of salt or instead of iron, and (say) Y instead of soluble or instead of rusted by water; and then a proposition may be represented by X is Y. It is still more usual to represent a proposition by S is (or is not) P, S being the initial of Subject and P of Predicate; though this has the drawback that if we argue—S is P, therefore P is S, the symbols in the latter proposition no longer have the same significance, since the former subject is now the predicate.
It's a common and convenient practice to explain logical concepts using examples: to clarify what a proposition means, we might say salt is soluble or water rusts iron. The conjunction is illustrated by salt is savory and wholesome; and so on. However, this approach has some drawbacks: it can be cumbersome and may distract the reader's focus from the point being explained by stirring their interest in the specific example. Clearly, since Logic is formal, no specific factual example can fully illustrate any of its principles. Therefore, logic writers use letters of the alphabet instead of concrete terms, using X for salt or iron, and Y for soluble or rusted by water; thus, a proposition can be represented as X is Y. It's even more common to represent a proposition as S is (or is not) P, where S stands for Subject and P for Predicate; though this has the downside that if we argue—S is P, then P is S, the symbols in the latter proposition lose their original meaning, since the former subject becomes the predicate.
Again, negative terms frequently occur in Logic, such as not-water, or not-iron, and then if water or iron be expressed by X, the corresponding negative may be expressed by x; or, generally, if a capital letter stand for a positive term, the corresponding small letter represents the negative. The same device may be adopted to express contradictory terms: either of them being X, the other is x (see chap. iv., §§ 7-8); or the contradictory terms may be expressed by x and x̄, y and ȳ.
Once again, negative terms often appear in Logic, like not-water or not-iron. If water or iron is represented by X, the corresponding negative can be shown as x. Generally, if a capital letter stands for a positive term, the matching lowercase letter indicates the negative. This method can also be used to represent contradictory terms: if one is X, the other is x (see chap. iv., §§ 7-8); or the contradictory terms can be shown as x and x̄, y and ȳ.
And as terms are often compounded, it may be convenient to express them by a combination of letters: instead of illustrating such a case by boiling water or water that is boiling, we may write XY; or since positive and negative terms may be compounded, instead of illustrating this by water that is not boiling, we may write Xy.
And since terms are often combined, it might be easier to express them using a mix of letters: instead of showing an example like boiling water or water that is boiling, we can write XY; or because both positive and negative terms can be combined, instead of showing this with water that is not boiling, we can write Xy.
The convenience of this is obvious; but it is more than convenient; for, if one of the uses of Logic be to discipline the power of abstract thought, this can be done far more effectually by symbolic than by concrete examples; and if such discipline were the only use of Logic it might be best to discard concrete illustrations altogether, at least in advanced text-books, though no doubt the practice would be too severe for elementary manuals. On the other hand, to show the practical applicability of Logic to the arguments and proofs of actual life, or even of the concrete sciences, [Pg 26]merely symbolic illustration may be not only useless but even misleading. When we speak of politics, or poetry, or species, or the weather, the terms that must be used can rarely have the distinctness and isolation of X and Y; so that the perfunctory use of symbolic illustration makes argument and proof appear to be much simpler and easier matters than they really are. Our belief in any proposition never rests on the proposition itself, nor merely upon one or two others, but upon the immense background of our general knowledge and beliefs, full of circumstances and analogies, in relation to which alone any given proposition is intelligible. Indeed, for this reason, it is impossible to illustrate Logic sufficiently: the reader who is in earnest about the cogency of arguments and the limitation of proofs, and is scrupulous as to the degrees of assent that they require, must constantly look for illustrations in his own knowledge and experience and rely at last upon his own sagacity.
The convenience of this is clear; but it’s more than just convenient; because, if one of the purposes of Logic is to train the power of abstract thinking, this can be done much more effectively with symbols than with concrete examples. If that training were the only purpose of Logic, we might as well completely eliminate concrete illustrations, at least in advanced textbooks, though this would likely be too harsh for beginner manuals. On the flip side, to demonstrate the real-world application of Logic to arguments and proofs in everyday life, or even in the concrete sciences, [Pg 26]merely using symbolic illustrations may not only be pointless but also misleading. When discussing politics, poetry, species, or the weather, the terms we use rarely have the clarity and isolation of X and Y; so, the casual use of symbolic illustrations makes arguments and proofs seem much simpler and easier than they actually are. Our belief in any statement doesn’t just rely on that statement alone or one or two others, but on a vast background of our general knowledge and beliefs, filled with contexts and analogies, which is the only way any specific statement makes sense. In fact, for this reason, it’s impossible to illustrate Logic adequately: a reader who genuinely cares about the strength of arguments and the limitations of proofs, and who is careful about the degrees of agreement they require, has to constantly seek illustrations from their own knowledge and experience, ultimately relying on their own insight.
CHAPTER III
OF TERMS AND THEIR DENOTATION
§ 1. In treating of Deductive Logic it is usual to recognise three divisions of the subject: first, the doctrine of Terms, words, or other signs used as subjects or predicates; secondly, the doctrine of Propositions, analysed into terms related; and, thirdly, the doctrine of the Syllogism in which propositions appear as the grounds of a conclusion.
§ 1. When discussing Deductive Logic, it's common to identify three main areas: first, the study of Terms, which are words or other signs that serve as subjects or predicates; second, the study of Propositions, which involve the relationship between terms; and third, the study of the Syllogism, where propositions serve as the basis for a conclusion.
The terms employed are either letters of the alphabet, or the words of common language, or the technicalities of science; and since the words of common language are most in use, it is necessary to give some account of common language as subserving the purposes of Logic. It has been urged that we cannot think or reason at all without words, or some substitute for them, such as the signs of algebra; but this is an exaggeration. Minds greatly differ, and some think by the aid of definite and comprehensive picturings, especially in dealing with problems concerning objects in space, as in playing chess blindfold, inventing a machine, planning a tour on an imagined map. Most people draw many simple inferences by means of perceptions, or of mental imagery. On the other hand, some men think a good deal without any continuum of words and without any imagery, or with none that seems relevant to the purpose. Still the more elaborate sort of thinking, the grouping and concatenation of inferences, which we call reasoning, cannot be carried far without language or some equivalent system of signs. It [Pg 28]is not merely that we need language to express our reasonings and communicate them to others: in solitary thought we often depend on words—'talk to ourselves,' in fact; though the words or sentences that then pass through our minds are not always fully formed or articulated. In Logic, moreover, we have carefully to examine the grounds (at least the proximate grounds) of our conclusions; and plainly this cannot be done unless the conclusions in question are explicitly stated and recorded.
The terms used here are either letters of the alphabet, common words, or scientific jargon; and since common language is the most frequently used, it’s important to discuss how it supports the goals of Logic. It's been claimed that we can't think or reason at all without words, or some alternative like algebraic symbols; but this is an overstatement. People's minds vary greatly, and some think with clear and detailed images, especially when solving problems related to objects in space, like playing chess blindfolded, creating a machine, or planning a journey on a mental map. Most people make many simple inferences through perceptions or mental imagery. However, some individuals think quite a bit without a flow of words and without any imagery that seems relevant. Still, more complex thinking—the grouping and linking of inferences, which we call reasoning—cannot progress significantly without language or a similar system of signs. It’s not just that we need language to express our thoughts and convey them to others: in solitary reflection, we often rely on words—essentially, we "talk to ourselves"; although the words or sentences that go through our minds aren’t always fully formed or clear. In Logic, we also need to carefully examine the reasons (or at least the immediate reasons) for our conclusions; and clearly, this cannot happen unless those conclusions are stated and recorded explicitly.
Conceptualists say that Logic deals not with the process of thinking (which belongs to Psychology) but with its results; not with conceiving but with concepts; not with judging but with judgments. Is the concept self-consistent or adequate? Logic asks; is the judgment capable of proof? Now, it is only by recording our thoughts in language that it becomes possible to distinguish between the process and the result of thought. Without language, the act and the product of thinking would be identical and equally evanescent. But by carrying on the process in language and remembering or otherwise recording it, we obtain a result which may be examined according to the principles of Logic.
Conceptualists argue that Logic is not about the thinking process (that's Psychology) but about its outcomes; it's not about forming ideas but about concepts; it's not about judging but about judgments. Logic asks whether the concept is self-consistent or adequate; it asks if the judgment can be proven. The only way to differentiate between the thinking process and its results is by using language to capture our thoughts. Without language, the act of thinking and its outcome would be the same and fleeting. However, by expressing the process in language and remembering or recording it, we produce a result that can be analyzed based on Logic's principles.
Grammar is the study of the words of some language, their classification and derivation, and of the rules of combining them, according to the usage at any time recognised and followed by those who are considered correct writers or speakers. Composition may be faultless in its grammar, though dull and absurd.
Grammar is the study of the words in a language, how they are classified and derived, and the rules for combining them based on the standards recognized and followed by those seen as proper writers or speakers. Composition can have perfect grammar, yet still be boring and nonsensical.
Rhetoric is the study of language with a view to obtaining some special effect in the communication of ideas or feelings, such as picturesqueness in description, vivacity in narration, lucidity in exposition, vehemence in persuasion, or literary charm. Some of these ends are often gained in spite of faulty syntax or faulty logic; but since the few whom bad [Pg 29]grammar saddens or incoherent arguments divert are not carried away, as they else might be, by an unsophisticated orator, Grammar and Logic are necessary to the perfection of Rhetoric. Not that Rhetoric is in bondage to those other sciences; for foreign idioms and such figures as the ellipsis, the anacoluthon, the oxymoron, the hyperbole, and violent inversions have their place in the magnificent style; but authors unacquainted with Grammar and Logic are not likely to place such figures well and wisely. Indeed, common idioms, though both grammatically and rhetorically justifiable, both correct and effective, often seem illogical. 'To fall asleep,' for example, is a perfect English phrase; yet if we examine severally the words it consists of, it may seem strange that their combination should mean anything at all.
Rhetoric is the study of language aimed at achieving a specific effect in communicating ideas or feelings, such as vividness in description, energy in storytelling, clarity in explanation, intensity in persuasion, or literary appeal. Some of these effects can be achieved despite poor grammar or faulty logic; however, since the few people who are troubled by bad grammar or confused by unclear arguments are not swayed as easily by an unrefined speaker, Grammar and Logic are essential for mastering Rhetoric. This doesn’t mean that Rhetoric is confined to those other disciplines; foreign expressions and figures like ellipsis, anacoluthon, oxymoron, hyperbole, and dramatic inversions have their place in a powerful style. But writers who lack knowledge of Grammar and Logic are unlikely to use these figures effectively. In fact, common expressions, while both grammatically and rhetorically sound, can often seem illogical. For instance, "to fall asleep" is a perfectly fine phrase in English; however, when we break down the individual words, it can seem odd that they come together to convey any meaning at all.
But Logic only studies language so far as necessary in order to state, understand, and check the evidence and reasonings that are usually embodied in language. And as long as meanings are clear, good Logic is compatible with false concords and inelegance of style.
But Logic only looks at language to the extent needed to present, understand, and verify the evidence and reasoning that are usually expressed in language. And as long as the meanings are clear, sound Logic can coexist with incorrect agreements and a lack of elegance in style.
§ 3. Terms are either Simple or Composite: that is to say, they may consist either of a single word, as 'Chaucer,' 'civilisation'; or of more than one, as 'the father of English poetry,' or 'modern civilised nations.' Logicians classify words according to their uses in forming propositions; or, rather, they classify the uses of words as terms, not the words themselves; for the same word may fall into different classes of terms according to the way in which it is used. (Cf. Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Distinction and the Criticism of Beliefs, chap. xiv.)
§ 3. Terms are either Simple or Composite: in other words, they can be a single word, like 'Chaucer' or 'civilization,' or they can be made up of multiple words, like 'the father of English poetry' or 'modern civilized nations.' Logicians categorize words based on how they are used in making statements; or more accurately, they categorize the uses of words as terms, not the words themselves, because the same word can belong to different categories of terms depending on how it’s used. (Cf. Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Distinction and the Criticism of Beliefs, chap. xiv.)
Thus words are classified as Categorematic or Syncategorematic. A word is Categorematic if used singly as a term without the support of other words: it is Syncategorematic when joined with other words in order to constitute the subject or predicate of a proposition. If we say Venus is a planet whose orbit is inside the Earth's, the subject, 'Venus,'[Pg 30] is a word used categorematically as a simple term; the predicate is a composite term whose constituent words (whether substantive, relative, verb, or preposition) are used syncategorematically.
Words are classified as Categorematic or Syncategorematic. A word is Categorematic if it stands alone as a term without needing other words; it is Syncategorematic when it combines with other words to form the subject or predicate of a statement. For example, in the sentence Venus is a planet whose orbit is inside the Earth's, the subject 'Venus' [Pg 30] is a word used categorically as a simple term, while the predicate is a composite term where the individual words (whether noun, relative, verb, or preposition) are used in a syncategorematic way.
Prepositions, conjunctions, articles, adverbs, relative pronouns, in their ordinary use, can only enter into terms along with other words having a substantive, adjectival or participial force; but when they are themselves the things spoken of and are used substantively (suppositio materialis), they are categorematic. In the proposition, 'Of' was used more indefinitely three hundred years ago than it is now, 'of' is categorematic. On the other hand, all substantives may be used categorematically; and the same self-sufficiency is usually recognised in adjectives and participles. Some, however, hold that the categorematic use of adjectives and participles is due to an ellipsis which the logician should fill up; that instead of Gold is heavy, he should say Gold is a heavy metal; instead of The sun is shining, The sun is a body shining. But in these cases the words 'metal' and 'body' are unmistakable tautology, since 'metal' is implied in gold and 'body' in sun. But, as we have seen, any of these kinds of word, substantive, adjective, or participle, may occur syncategorematically in connection with others to form a composite term.
Prepositions, conjunctions, articles, adverbs, and relative pronouns, when used normally, can only form terms with other words that have a substantive, adjectival, or participial meaning; but when they themselves refer to the things being discussed and are used substantively (suppositio materialis), they are considered categorematic. In the statement, 'Of' was used more vaguely three hundred years ago than it is now, 'of' is categorematic. Conversely, all substantives can be used categorematically; and adjectives and participles are generally recognized as having the same self-sufficiency. However, some argue that the categorematic use of adjectives and participles results from an ellipsis that the logician should clarify; instead of saying Gold is heavy, they suggest saying Gold is a heavy metal; instead of The sun is shining, they propose The sun is a body shining. But in these cases, the words 'metal' and 'body' are clearly redundant since 'metal' is already implied in gold, and 'body' in sun. However, as we have seen, any of these types of words—substantive, adjective, or participle—can occur syncategorematically when combined with others to create a composite term.
§ 4. Most terms (the exceptions and doubtful cases will be discussed hereafter) have two functions, a denotative and a connotative. A term's denotative function is, to be the name or sign of something or some multitude of things, which are said to be called or denoted by the term. Its connotative function is, to suggest certain qualities and characteristics of the things denoted, so that it cannot be used literally as the name of any other things; which qualities and characteristics are said to be implied or connoted by the term. Thus 'sheep' is the name of certain animals, and its connotation prevents its being used of any others. That which a term directly indicates, then, [Pg 31]is its Denotation; that sense or customary use of it which limits the Denotation is its Connotation (ch. iv.). Hamilton and others use 'Extension' in the sense of Denotation, and 'Intension' or 'Comprehension' in the sense of Connotation. Now, terms may be classified, first according to what they stand for or denote; that is, according to their Denotation. In this respect, the use of a term is said to be either Concrete or Abstract.
§ 4. Most terms (we'll discuss exceptions and uncertain cases later) have two functions: a denotative function and a connotative function. A term's denotative function is to be the name or sign for something or a group of things that are referred to by that term. Its connotative function suggests certain qualities and characteristics of the things denoted, which means it can't be literally used as the name for anything else; these qualities and characteristics are what we say are implied or connoted by the term. For instance, 'sheep' refers to specific animals, and its connotation prevents its use for any others. Therefore, what a term directly indicates is its Denotation; the sense or conventional use that limits the Denotation is its Connotation (ch. iv.). Hamilton and others use 'Extension' to mean Denotation, and 'Intension' or 'Comprehension' to mean Connotation. Terms can first be classified based on what they represent or denote; that is, based on their Denotation. In this regard, the use of a term is said to be either Concrete or Abstract. [Pg 31]
A term is Concrete when it denotes a 'thing'; that is, any person, object, fact, event, feeling or imagination, considered as capable of having (or consisting of) qualities and a determinate existence. Thus 'cricket ball' denotes any object having a certain size, weight, shape, colour, etc. (which are its qualities), and being at any given time in some place and related to other objects—in the bowler's hands, on the grass, in a shop window. Any 'feeling of heat' has a certain intensity, is pleasurable or painful, occurs at a certain time, and affects some part or the whole of some animal. An imagination, indeed (say, of a fairy), cannot be said in the same sense to have locality; but it depends on the thinking of some man who has locality, and is definitely related to his other thoughts and feelings.
A term is Concrete when it refers to a 'thing'; that is, any person, object, fact, event, feeling, or imagination that can have (or consist of) qualities and a specific existence. So 'cricket ball' refers to any object with a certain size, weight, shape, color, etc. (which are its qualities), and is at any given time in a specific location, connected to other objects—in the bowler's hands, on the grass, in a shop window. Any 'feeling of heat' has a certain intensity, is either pleasurable or painful, occurs at a specific time, and affects some part or the whole of an animal. An imagination, like a fairy, doesn't have a location in the same way; however, it relies on the thoughts of a person who does have a location and is clearly connected to his other thoughts and feelings.
A term is Abstract, on the other hand, when it denotes a quality (or qualities), considered by itself and without determinate existence in time, place, or relation to other things. 'Size,' 'shape,' 'weight,' 'colour,' 'intensity,' 'pleasurableness,' are terms used to denote such qualities, and are then abstract in their denotation. 'Weight' is not something with a determinate existence at a given time; it exists not merely in some particular place, but wherever there is a heavy thing; and, as to relation, at the same moment it combines in iron with solidity and in mercury with liquidity. In fact, a quality is a point of agreement in a multitude of different things; all heavy things agree in weight, all round things in roundness, all red things in redness; and an abstract term denotes such a point (or points) of agreement [Pg 32]among the things denoted by concrete terms. Abstract terms result from the analysis of concrete things into their qualities; and conversely a concrete term may be viewed as denoting the synthesis of qualities into an individual thing. When several things agree in more than one quality, there may be an abstract term denoting the union of qualities in which they agree, and omitting their peculiarities; as 'human nature' denotes the common qualities of men, 'civilisation' the common conditions of civilised peoples.
A term is considered abstract when it refers to a quality (or qualities) on its own, without a specific existence in time, place, or relation to anything else. Words like 'size,' 'shape,' 'weight,' 'color,' 'intensity,' and 'pleasurableness' are used to describe such qualities and are thus abstract in their meaning. 'Weight' doesn’t exist at a specific time; it is found wherever there is something heavy, and in terms of relation, it combines with solidity in iron and liquidity in mercury. Essentially, a quality represents a commonality among many different things; all heavy items share weight, all round items share roundness, and all red items share redness. An abstract term identifies this commonality (or commonalities) among things that concrete terms describe. Abstract terms come from breaking down concrete things into their qualities, while a concrete term represents the combination of qualities into a single entity. When several things share multiple qualities, an abstract term can reflect the combination of those qualities while overlooking their individual differences; for instance, 'human nature' describes the shared qualities of humans, and 'civilization' outlines the common conditions of civilized societies. [Pg 32]
Every general name, if used as a concrete term, has, or may have, a corresponding abstract term. Sometimes the concrete term is modified to form the abstract, as 'greedy—greediness'; sometimes a word is adapted from another language, as 'man—humanity'; sometimes a composite term is used, as 'mercury—the nature of mercury,' etc. The same concrete may have several abstract correlatives, as 'man—manhood, humanity, human nature'; 'heavy—weight, gravity, ponderosity'; but in such cases the abstract terms are not used quite synonymously; that is, they imply different ways of considering the concrete.
Every general name, when used as a concrete term, has, or can have, a corresponding abstract term. Sometimes the concrete term is modified to create the abstract, like 'greedy—greediness'; other times, a word is borrowed from another language, like 'man—humanity'; and sometimes a composite term is used, like 'mercury—the nature of mercury,' etc. The same concrete term can have multiple abstract correlatives, like 'man—manhood, humanity, human nature'; 'heavy—weight, gravity, ponderosity'; but in these cases, the abstract terms are not entirely synonymous; they indicate different ways of thinking about the concrete.
Whether a word is used as a concrete or abstract term is in most instances plain from the word itself, the use of most words being pretty regular one way or the other; but sometimes we must judge by the context. 'Weight' may be used in the abstract for 'gravity,' or in the concrete for a measure; but in the latter sense it is syncategorematic (in the singular), needing at least the article 'a (or the) weight.' 'Government' may mean 'supreme political authority,' and is then abstract; or, the men who happen to be ministers, and is then concrete; but in this case, too, the article is usually prefixed. 'The life' of any man may mean his vitality (abstract), as in "Thus following life in creatures we dissect"; or, the series of events through which he passes (concrete), as in 'the life of Nelson as narrated by Southey.'
Whether a word is used as a concrete or abstract term is usually clear from the word itself, as most words consistently fall into one category or the other; however, sometimes we have to rely on the context to determine this. 'Weight' can refer to the abstract concept of 'gravity,' or in a concrete sense, it can refer to a measurement; in the latter case, it needs to be accompanied by an article like 'a' or 'the' weight. 'Government' can mean 'supreme political authority,' which is abstract, or it can refer to the individuals who are currently serving as ministers, which is concrete; again, the article is typically used here as well. 'The life' of any man might refer to his vitality (abstract), as in "Thus following life in creatures we dissect"; or, it might refer to the series of events he experiences (concrete), as in 'the life of Nelson as narrated by Southey.'
It has been made a question whether the denotation of an abstract term may itself be the subject of qualities. Apparently 'weight' may be greater or less, 'government' good or bad, 'vitality' intense or dull. But if every subject is modified by a quality, a quality is also modified by making it the subject of another; and, if so, it seems then to become a new quality. The compound terms 'great weight,' 'bad government,' 'dull vitality,' have not the same denotation as the simple terms 'weight, 'government,' 'vitality': they imply, and may be said to connote, more special concrete experience, such as the effort felt in lifting a trunk, disgust at the conduct of officials, sluggish movements of an animal when irritated. It is to such concrete experiences that we have always to refer in order fully to realise the meaning of abstract terms, and therefore, of course, to understand any qualification of them.
It's been questioned whether the meaning of an abstract term can itself have qualities. Clearly, 'weight' can be more or less, 'government' can be good or bad, and 'vitality' can be intense or dull. However, if every subject is affected by a quality, then a quality can also be affected by becoming the subject of another quality, which would then make it a new quality. The combined terms 'great weight,' 'bad government,' and 'dull vitality' don't have the same meaning as the basic terms 'weight,' 'government,' and 'vitality': they suggest, and can be said to imply, more specific concrete experiences, like the effort of lifting a trunk, feeling disgusted by officials' actions, or observing sluggish movements in an irritated animal. It’s these concrete experiences that we must always refer to in order to fully understand the meaning of abstract terms and, consequently, any qualifications of them.
§ 5. Concrete terms may be subdivided according to the number of things they denote and the way in which they denote them. A term may denote one thing or many: if one, it is called Singular; if many, it may do so distributively, and then it is General; or, as taken all together, and then it is Collective: one, then; any one of many; many in one.
§ 5. Concrete terms can be categorized based on how many things they refer to and how they refer to them. A term might refer to one thing or several: if it refers to one, it's called Singular; if it refers to multiple, it can do so individually, in which case it's General; or, if it includes all of them together, it's Collective: one, any one from many, many in one.
Among Singular Terms, each denoting a single thing, the most obvious are Proper Names, such as Gibraltar or George Washington, which are merely marks of individual things or persons, and may form no part of the common language of a country. They are thus distinguished from other Singular Terms, which consist of common words so combined as to restrict their denotation to some individual, such as, 'the strongest man on earth.'
Among Singular Terms, which each represent one specific thing, the clearest examples are Proper Names, like Gibraltar or George Washington. These are simply labels for individual things or people and may not be a part of the common language of a country. This distinguishes them from other Singular Terms, which are made up of regular words combined in a way that limits their meaning to a specific individual, such as "the strongest man on earth."
Proper Terms are often said to be arbitrary signs, because their use does not depend upon any reason that may be given for them. Gibraltar had a meaning among the Moors when originally conferred; but no one now knows what it was, unless he happens to have learned it; yet the name serves [Pg 34]its purpose as well as if it were "Rooke's Nest." Every Newton or Newport year by year grows old, but to alter the name would cause only confusion. If such names were given by mere caprice it would make no difference; and they could not be more cumbrous, ugly, or absurd than many of those that are given 'for reasons.'
Proper terms are often called arbitrary signs because their use doesn't rely on any specific reason behind them. Gibraltar had significance for the Moors when it was originally named, but now no one knows what that meaning was, unless they happen to have learned it; still, the name works just as well as if it were "Rooke's Nest." Every Newton or Newport ages over time, but changing the name would only lead to confusion. If these names were assigned randomly, it wouldn't matter; they couldn't be any more clumsy, ugly, or ridiculous than many that are chosen 'for reasons.' [Pg 34]
The remaining kinds of Singular Terms are drawn from the common resources of the language. Thus the pronouns 'he,' 'she,' 'it,' are singular terms, whose present denotation is determined by the occasion and context of discourse: so with demonstrative phrases—'the man,' 'that horse.' Descriptive names may be more complex, as 'the wisest man of Gotham,' which is limited to some individual by the superlative suffix; or 'the German Emperor,' which is limited by the definite article—the general term 'German Emperor' being thereby restricted either to the reigning monarch or to the one we happen to be discussing. Instead of the definite, the indefinite article may be used to make general terms singular, as 'a German Emperor was crowned at Versailles' (individua vaga).
The other types of Singular Terms come from the general resources of the language. So, the pronouns 'he,' 'she,' and 'it' are singular terms, with their meaning determined by the context of the conversation. The same goes for demonstrative phrases like 'the man' and 'that horse.' Descriptive names can be more complex, such as 'the wisest man of Gotham,' which specifies an individual by the superlative suffix; or 'the German Emperor,' which is defined by the definite article—where 'German Emperor' generally refers to either the current monarch or the individual we are discussing. Instead of the definite article, the indefinite article can be used to make general terms singular, as in 'a German Emperor was crowned at Versailles' (individua vaga).
Abstract Terms are ostensively singular: 'whiteness' (e.g.) is one quality. But their full meaning is general: 'whiteness' stands for all white things, so far as white. Abstract terms, in fact, are only formally singular.
Abstract terms are technically singular: 'whiteness' (e.g.) refers to one quality. However, their complete meaning is general: 'whiteness' represents all things that are white, as far as being white is concerned. In reality, abstract terms are only formally singular.
General Terms are words, or combinations of words, used to denote any one of many things that resemble one another in certain respects. 'George III.' is a Singular Term denoting one man; but 'King' is a General Term denoting him and all other men of the same rank; whilst the compound 'crowned head' is still more general, denoting kings and also emperors. It is the nature of a general term, then, to be used in the same sense of whatever it denotes; and its most characteristic form is the Class-name, whether of objects, such as 'king,' 'sheep,' 'ghost'; or of events, such as 'accession,' 'purchase,' 'manifestation.' Things and events are known by their qualities and relations; and [Pg 35]every such aspect, being a point of resemblance to some other things, becomes a ground of generalisation, and therefore a ground for the need and use of general terms. Hence general terms are far the most important sort of terms in Logic, since in them general propositions are expressed and, moreover (with rare exceptions), all predicates are general. For, besides these typical class-names, attributive words are general terms, such as 'royal,' 'ruling,' 'woolly,' 'bleating,' 'impalpable,' 'vanishing.'
General Terms are words or combinations of words used to refer to many things that share certain similarities. 'George III.' is a Singular Term that refers to one person, but 'King' is a General Term that applies to him and all other men of the same rank. Meanwhile, the compound 'crowned head' is even more general, referring to both kings and emperors. The essence of a general term is that it is used consistently for everything it represents, and its most typical form is the Class-name, which can refer to objects like 'king,' 'sheep,' 'ghost,' or events like 'accession,' 'purchase,' 'manifestation.' Things and events are recognized by their qualities and relationships; and each of these characteristics, being a point of similarity with other things, provides a basis for generalization, thereby highlighting the need and use of general terms. Consequently, general terms are by far the most significant type of terms in Logic, as they express general propositions and (with rare exceptions) all predicates are general. In addition to these typical class-names, descriptive words are also general terms, such as 'royal,' 'ruling,' 'woolly,' 'bleating,' 'impalpable,' 'vanishing.'
Infinitives may also be used as general terms, as 'To err is human'; but for logical purposes they may have to be translated into equivalent substantive forms, as Foolish actions are characteristic of mankind. Abstract terms, too, are (as I observed) equivalent to general terms; 'folly' is abstract for 'foolish actions.' 'Honesty is the best policy' means people who are honest may hope to find their account in being so; that is, in the effects of their honest actions, provided they are wise in other ways, and no misfortunes attend them. The abstract form is often much the more succinct and forcible, but for logical treatment it needs to be interpreted in the general form.
Infinitives can also be used as general terms, like "To err is human"; however, for clarity, they might need to be changed into equivalent noun forms, such as Foolish actions are characteristic of mankind. Abstract terms, as I pointed out, are also equivalent to general terms; 'folly' is the abstract term for 'foolish actions.' "Honesty is the best policy" means people who are honest can expect to benefit from being so; that is, from the outcomes of their honest actions, as long as they are wise in other aspects and do not face any misfortunes. The abstract form is often much more concise and impactful, but for logical analysis, it needs to be interpreted in general terms.
By antonomasia proper names may become general terms, as if we say 'A Johnson' would not have written such a book—i.e., any man of his genius for elaborate eloquence.
By antonomasia, proper names can turn into general terms, as when we say 'A Johnson' would not have written such a book—i.e., any man of his talent for elaborate eloquence.
A Collective Term denotes a multitude of similar things considered as forming one whole, as 'regiment,' 'flock,' 'nation': not distributively, that is, not the similar things severally; to denote them we must say 'soldiers of the regiment,' 'sheep of the flock,' and so on. If in a multitude of things there is no resemblance, except the fact of being considered as parts of one whole, as 'the world,' or 'the town of Nottingham' (meaning its streets and houses, open spaces, people, and civic organisation), the term denoting them as a whole is Singular; but 'the world' or 'town of Nottingham,' meaning the inhabitants only, is Collective.
A Collective Term refers to a group of similar items that are seen as one entity, like 'regiment,' 'flock,' or 'nation': not individually, meaning not the similar items separately; to refer to them individually we say 'soldiers of the regiment,' 'sheep of the flock,' and so on. If a group of things has no similarity except being viewed as parts of a whole, such as 'the world' or 'the town of Nottingham' (which includes its streets, houses, open spaces, people, and local government), the term for the whole is Singular; however, 'the world' or 'town of Nottingham' when referring only to the people is Collective.
In their strictly collective use, all such expressions are equivalent to singular terms; but many of them may also be used as general terms, as when we speak of 'so many regiments of the line,' or discuss the 'plurality of worlds'; and in this general use they denote any of a multitude of things of the same kind—regiments, or habitable worlds.
In their purely collective use, all these expressions are similar to singular terms; however, many of them can also be used as general terms, like when we say 'so many regiments of the line,' or talk about the 'plurality of worlds'; in this general sense, they refer to any number of things of the same type—regiments or habitable worlds.
Names of substances, such as 'gold,' 'air,' 'water,' may be employed as singular, collective, or general terms; though, perhaps, as singular terms only figuratively, as when we say Gold is king. If we say with Thales, 'Water is the source of all things,' 'water' seems to be used collectively. But substantive names are frequently used as general terms. For example, Gold is heavy means 'in comparison with other things,' such as water. And, plainly, it does not mean that the aggregate of gold is heavier than the aggregate of water, but only that its specific gravity is greater; that is, bulk for bulk, any piece of gold is heavier than water.
Names of substances like 'gold,' 'air,' and 'water' can be used as singular, collective, or general terms. However, they might only be used as singular terms in a figurative sense, like when we say Gold is king. When we say, as Thales did, 'Water is the source of all things,' 'water' seems to be used collectively. But substance names are often used as general terms. For instance, Gold is heavy means 'compared to other things,' like water. Clearly, it doesn't imply that the total amount of gold is heavier than the total amount of water, but rather that its specific gravity is greater; that is, weight for weight, any piece of gold is heavier than water.
Finally, any class-name may be used collectively if we wish to assert something of the things denoted by it, not distributively but altogether, as that Sheep are more numerous than wolves.
Finally, any class name can be used collectively if we want to state something about all the things it refers to, not individually but as a whole, like in the sentence Sheep are more numerous than wolves.
CHAPTER IV
THE CONNOTATION OF TERMS
§ 1. Terms are next to be classified according to their Connotation—that is, according to what they imply as characteristic of the things denoted. We have seen that general names are used to denote many things in the same sense, because the things denoted resemble one another in certain ways: it is this resemblance in certain points that leads us to class the things together and call them by the same name; and therefore the points of resemblance constitute the sense or meaning of the name, or its Connotation, and limit its applicability to such things as have these characteristic qualities. 'Sheep' for example, is used in the same sense, to denote any of a multitude of animals that resemble one another: their size, shape, woolly coats, cloven hoofs, innocent ways and edibility are well known. When we apply to anything the term 'sheep,' we imply that it has these qualities: 'sheep,' denoting the animal, connotes its possessing these characteristics; and, of course, it cannot, without a figure of speech or a blunder, be used to denote anything that does not possess all these qualities. It is by a figure of speech that the term 'sheep' is applied to some men; and to apply it to goats would be a blunder.
§ 1. Terms are next classified based on their connotation—that is, based on what they imply about the things they reference. We’ve seen that general names are used to refer to many things in the same way because the items share certain characteristics: it’s this similarity in specific aspects that leads us to group these items together and give them the same name. Therefore, the aspects of similarity form the meaning of the name, or its connotation, and restrict its use to those things that have these distinct qualities. For example, 'sheep' is used in the same way to refer to any of a number of animals that look alike: their size, shape, woolly coats, split hooves, gentle behavior, and edibility are well known. When we use the term 'sheep,' we imply that it has these qualities: 'sheep,' referring to the animal, implies it possesses these characteristics; and, of course, it cannot, without a figure of speech or a mistake, be used to refer to anything that doesn’t have all these qualities. Using the term 'sheep' to describe some men is figurative speech; applying it to goats would be a mistake.
Most people are very imperfectly aware of the connotation of the words they use, and are guided in using them merely by the custom of the language. A man who employs a word quite correctly may be sadly posed by a request to explain or define it. Moreover, so far as we are aware of the connotation[Pg 38] of terms, the number and the kind of attributes we think of, in any given case, vary with the depth of our interest, and with the nature of our interest in the things denoted. 'Sheep' has one meaning to a touring townsman, a much fuller one to a farmer, and yet a different one to a zoologist. But this does not prevent them agreeing in the use of the word, as long as the qualities they severally include in its meaning are not incompatible.
Most people have a pretty limited understanding of the meanings of the words they use and rely mainly on the conventions of the language. Someone who uses a word correctly might struggle when asked to explain or define it. Also, our awareness of the connotation[Pg 38] of terms can vary based on how deeply we care about something and what exactly our interest is. To a tourist, 'sheep' means one thing, to a farmer it means something much more detailed, and to a zoologist, it means something else entirely. However, they can all agree on using the word as long as the qualities each of them associates with it don’t clash.
All general names, and therefore not only class-names, like 'sheep,' but all attributives, have some connotation. 'Woolly' denotes anything that bears wool, and connotes the fact of bearing wool; 'innocent' denotes anything that habitually and by its disposition does no harm (or has not been guilty of a particular offence), and connotes a harmless character (or freedom from particular guilt); 'edible' denotes whatever can be eaten with good results, and connotes its suitability for mastication, deglutition, digestion, and assimilation.
All general names, not just class names like 'sheep,' but also all descriptors, carry some meaning beyond their definition. 'Woolly' refers to anything that has wool and implies the characteristic of having wool; 'innocent' describes anything that usually doesn’t cause harm (or hasn’t committed a specific offense) and suggests a harmless nature (or freedom from specific guilt); 'edible' indicates anything that can be consumed safely and implies its appropriateness for chewing, swallowing, digestion, and absorption.
§ 2. But whether all terms must connote as well as denote something, has been much debated. Proper names, according to what seems the better opinion, are, in their ordinary use, not connotative. To say that they have no meaning may seem violent: if any one is called John Doe, this name, no doubt, means a great deal to his friends and neighbours, reminding them of his stature and physiognomy, his air and gait, his wit and wisdom, some queer stories, and an indefinite number of other things. But all this significance is local or accidental; it only exists for those who know the individual or have heard him described: whereas a general name gives information about any thing or person it denotes to everybody who understands the language, without any particular knowledge of the individual.
§ 2. There has been a lot of debate about whether all terms need to convey as well as mean something. It's generally thought that proper names, in their usual usage, don’t convey additional meaning. Saying they have no meaning might sound extreme: if someone is named John Doe, that name undoubtedly means a lot to his friends and neighbors, reminding them of his appearance, mannerisms, humor, intelligence, some funny stories, and countless other things. However, all this significance is local or coincidental; it only exists for those who know him or have heard about him. In contrast, a general name provides information about any thing or person it refers to everyone who understands the language, without needing specific knowledge of the individual.
We must distinguish, in fact, between the peculiar associations of the proper name and the commonly recognised meaning of the general name. This is why proper names [Pg 39]are not in the dictionary. Such a name as London, to be sure, or Napoleon Buonaparte, has a significance not merely local; still, it is accidental. These names are borne by other places and persons than those that have rendered them famous. There are Londons in various latitudes, and, no doubt, many Napoleon Buonapartes in Louisiana; and each name has in its several denotations an altogether different suggestiveness. For its suggestiveness is in each application determined by the peculiarities of the place or person denoted; it is not given to the different places (or to the different persons) because they have certain characteristics in common.
We need to differentiate between the unique associations of a proper name and the generally understood meaning of a common name. That’s why proper names [Pg 39]aren't found in the dictionary. A name like London or Napoleon Buonaparte has significance that goes beyond just the local context; however, that significance is incidental. These names can be associated with other places and people beyond those that made them well-known. There are multiple Londons in different locations, and undoubtedly many Napoleon Buonapartes in Louisiana; each name carries a completely different connotation depending on the specific place or person it refers to. Its connotation in each case is shaped by the unique qualities of the place or individual mentioned, rather than being assigned to different locations (or different individuals) because they share certain characteristics.
However, the scientific grounds of the doctrine that proper names are non-connotative, are these: The peculiarities that distinguish an individual person or thing are admitted to be infinite, and anything less than a complete enumeration of these peculiarities may fail to distinguish and identify the individual. For, short of a complete enumeration of them, the description may be satisfied by two or more individuals; and in that case the term denoting them, if limited by such a description, is not a proper but a general name, since it is applicable to two or more in the same sense. The existence of other individuals to whom it applies may be highly improbable; but, if it be logically possible, that is enough. On the other hand, the enumeration of infinite peculiarities is certainly impossible. Therefore proper names have no assignable connotation. The only escape from this reasoning lies in falling back upon time and place, the principles of individuation, as constituting the connotation of proper names. Two things cannot be at the same time in the same place: hence 'the man who was at a certain spot on the bridge of Lodi at a certain instant in a certain year' suffices to identify Napoleon Buonaparte for that instant. Supposing no one else to have borne the name, then, is this its connotation? No one has ever thought so. And, [Pg 40]at any rate, time and place are only extrinsic determinations (suitable indeed to events like the battle of Lodi, or to places themselves like London); whereas the connotation of a general term, such as 'sheep,' consists of intrinsic qualities. Hence, then, the scholastic doctrine 'that individuals have no essence' (see chap. xxii. § 9), and Hamilton's dictum 'that every concept is inadequate to the individual,' are justified.
However, the scientific basis for the idea that proper names don't have any connotations is as follows: The unique features that set apart an individual person or thing are considered infinite, and anything less than a full list of these features might not effectively distinguish or identify the individual. Because, without a complete list, the description could apply to more than one individual, and in that case, the term that refers to them, if limited by such a description, isn't a proper name but a general name since it can apply to two or more in the same way. The existence of other individuals that fit the description may be quite unlikely, but if it's logically possible, that’s enough. On the other hand, listing infinite features is definitely impossible. Therefore, proper names have no specific connotation. The only way to escape this reasoning is to rely on time and place, which are the principles of individuation, as the connotation of proper names. Two things cannot occupy the same space at the same time: therefore, 'the man who was at a certain spot on the bridge of Lodi at a specific moment in a certain year' is enough to identify Napoleon Buonaparte for that moment. Assuming no one else had that name, is this what it means? No one has ever thought so. And, [Pg 40]in any case, time and place are only external factors (which are indeed suitable for events like the battle of Lodi, or for specific places like London); while the connotation of a general term, such as 'sheep,' includes intrinsic qualities. Thus, the scholastic idea that 'individuals have no essence' (see chap. xxii. § 9) and Hamilton's statement that 'every concept is inadequate to the individual' are validated.
General names, when used as proper names, lose their connotation, as Euxine or Newfoundland.
General names, when used as proper names, lose their meaning, like Euxine or Newfoundland.
Singular terms, other than Proper, have connotation; either in themselves, like the singular pronouns 'he,' 'she,' 'it,' which are general in their applicability, though singular in application; or, derivatively, from the general names that combine to form them, as in 'the first Emperor of the French' or the 'Capital of the British Empire.'
Singular terms, except for proper nouns, have connotations; either inherently, like the singular pronouns 'he,' 'she,' 'it,' which are generally applicable despite being singular, or indirectly, from the general names that make them up, such as 'the first Emperor of the French' or 'the Capital of the British Empire.'
§ 3. Whether Abstract Terms have any connotation is another disputed question. We have seen that they denote a quality or qualities of something, and that is precisely what general terms connote: 'honesty' denotes a quality of some men; 'honest' connotes the same quality, whilst denoting the men who have it.
§ 3. Whether abstract terms have any meaning associated with them is another debated question. We've seen that they represent a quality or qualities of something, which is exactly what general terms imply: 'honesty' represents a quality of some people; 'honest' implies the same quality while also referring to the people who possess it.
The denotation of abstract terms thus seems to exhaust their force or meaning. It has been proposed, however, to regard them as connoting the qualities they directly stand for, and not denoting anything; but surely this is too violent. To denote something is the same as to be the name of something (whether real or unreal), which every term must be. It is a better proposal to regard their denotation and connotation as coinciding; though open to the objection that 'connote' means 'to mark along with' something else, and this plan leaves nothing else. Mill thought that abstract terms are connotative when, besides denoting a quality, they suggest a quality of that quality (as 'fault' implies 'hurtfulness'); but against this it may be urged that one quality cannot bear another, since every [Pg 41]qualification of a quality constitutes a distinct quality in the total ('milk-whiteness' is distinct from 'whiteness,' cf. chap. iii. § 4). After all, if it is the most consistent plan, why not say that abstract, like proper, terms have no connotation?
The meaning of abstract terms seems to limit their impact or significance. However, some have suggested that we think of them as representing the qualities they directly indicate and not signifying anything else; but this seems too extreme. To indicate something is the same as being the name of something (whether it exists or not), which every term must do. It’s better to see their indication and implication as overlapping; although this can be criticized since 'connote' means 'to mark along with' something else, and this approach leaves out anything else. Mill believed that abstract terms imply something when, in addition to indicating a quality, they suggest a characteristic of that quality (like 'fault' implying 'hurtfulness'); but against this, it can be argued that one quality cannot contain another, since every qualification of a quality becomes a distinct quality in itself ('milk-whiteness' is different from 'whiteness,' cf. chap. iii. § 4). After all, if this is the most logical approach, why not say that abstract terms, like proper ones, have no implication?
But if abstract terms must be made to connote something, should it not be those things, indefinitely suggested, to which the qualities belong? Thus 'whiteness' may be considered to connote either snow or vapour, or any white thing, apart from one or other of which the quality has no existence; whose existence therefore it implies. By this course the denotation and connotation of abstract and of general names would be exactly reversed. Whilst the denotation of a general name is limited by the qualities connoted, the connotation of an abstract name includes all the things in which its denotation is realised. But the whole difficulty may be avoided by making it a rule to translate, for logical purposes, all abstract into the corresponding general terms.
But if abstract terms have to mean something, shouldn't they refer to those things, which their qualities represent, indefinitely? So 'whiteness' could be understood to refer to either snow or vapor, or any white object, since without them, the quality doesn’t exist; therefore, it suggests their existence. By doing this, the meanings and implications of abstract and general names would be completely flipped. While the meaning of a general name is limited by the qualities it implies, the implication of an abstract name includes all the things where its meaning is realized. However, we can avoid the whole issue by deciding to translate all abstract terms into their related general terms for logical purposes.
§ 4. If we ask how the connotation of a term is to be known, the answer depends upon how it is used. If used scientifically, its connotation is determined by, and is the same as, its definition; and the definition is determined by examining the things to be denoted, as we shall see in chap. xxii. If the same word is used as a term in different sciences, as 'property' in Law and in Logic, it will be differently defined by them, and will have, in each use, a correspondingly different connotation. But terms used in popular discourse should, as far as possible, have their connotations determined by classical usage, i.e., by the sense in which they are used by writers and speakers who are acknowledged masters of the language, such as Dryden and Burke. In this case the classical connotation determines the definition; so that to define terms thus used is nothing else than to analyse their accepted meanings.
§ 4. If we ask how to understand the connotation of a term, the answer depends on its usage. When used scientifically, its connotation aligns with its definition, which is established by examining the things it refers to, as we’ll see in chap. xxii. If the same word is used in different fields, like 'property' in Law and Logic, its definition will differ in each context, leading to a correspondingly different connotation. However, terms used in everyday conversation should, as much as possible, have their connotations shaped by classical usage, i.e., by the way writers and speakers recognized as language experts, such as Dryden and Burke, use them. In this case, the classical connotation determines the definition, meaning that defining such terms is simply analyzing their accepted meanings.
It must not, however, be supposed that in popular use the [Pg 42]connotation of any word is invariable. Logicians have attempted to classify terms into Univocal (having only one meaning) and Æquivocal (or ambiguous); and no doubt some words (like 'civil,' 'natural,' 'proud,' 'liberal,' 'humorous') are more manifestly liable to ambiguous use than some others. But in truth all general terms are popularly and classically used in somewhat different senses.
It shouldn't be assumed that in everyday language the [Pg 42]meaning of any word is fixed. Logicians have tried to categorize terms into univocal (having just one meaning) and equivocal (or ambiguous); and it's clear that some words (like 'civil,' 'natural,' 'proud,' 'liberal,' 'humorous') are more obviously prone to ambiguous meanings than others. However, in reality, all general terms are commonly and traditionally used in slightly different ways.
Figurative or tropical language chiefly consists in the transfer of words to new senses, as by metaphor or metonymy. In the course of years, too, words change their meanings; and before the time of Dryden our whole vocabulary was much more fluid and adaptable than it has since become. Such authors as Bacon, Milton, and Sir Thomas Browne often used words derived from the Latin in some sense they originally had in Latin, though in English they had acquired another meaning. Spenser and Shakespeare, besides this practice, sometimes use words in a way that can only be justified by their choosing to have it so; whilst their contemporaries, Beaumont and Fletcher, write the perfect modern language, as Dryden observed. Lapse of time, however, is not the chief cause of variation in the sense of words. The matters which terms are used to denote are often so complicated or so refined in the assemblage, interfusion, or gradation of their qualities, that terms do not exist in sufficient abundance and discriminativeness to denote the things and, at the same time, to convey by connotation a determinate sense of their agreements and differences. In discussing politics, religion, ethics, æsthetics, this imperfection of language is continually felt; and the only escape from it, short of coining new words, is to use such words as we have, now in one sense, now in another somewhat different, and to trust to the context, or to the resources of the literary art, in order to convey the true meaning. Against this evil the having been born since Dryden is no protection. It behoves us, then, to remember that terms are not classifiable [Pg 43]into Univocal and Æquivocal, but that all terms are susceptible of being used æquivocally, and that honesty and lucidity require us to try, as well as we can, to use each term univocally in the same context.
Figurative or figurative language mainly involves using words in new ways, like through metaphor or metonymy. Over the years, words change their meanings; before Dryden's time, our vocabulary was much more fluid and adaptable than it has become since. Authors like Bacon, Milton, and Sir Thomas Browne often used Latin-derived words in the senses they originally had in Latin, even though they had taken on different meanings in English. Spenser and Shakespeare not only did this but also sometimes used words in ways that only made sense because they chose to use them that way; meanwhile, their contemporaries, Beaumont and Fletcher, wrote in a perfectly modern style, as Dryden noted. However, the passage of time isn't the main reason for changes in word meaning. The things that words refer to are often so complex or nuanced in their qualities that there aren't enough precise words to accurately express them while also implying their similarities and differences. This limitation of language is constantly felt when discussing politics, religion, ethics, and aesthetics; the only way to cope with it, aside from creating new words, is to use existing words in different senses and rely on context or literary techniques to convey the true meaning. Being born after Dryden doesn’t protect us from this challenge. We should remember that terms can’t be neatly divided into clear-cut or ambiguous categories; rather, all terms can be used ambiguously, and it’s both honest and clear to try to use each term unambiguously in the same context. [Pg 43]
The context of any proposition always proceeds upon some assumption or understanding as to the scope of the discussion, which controls the interpretation of every statement and of every word. This was called by De Morgan the "universe of discourse": an older name for it, revived by Dr. Venn, and surely a better one, is suppositio. If we are talking of children, and 'play' is mentioned, the suppositio limits the suggestiveness of the word in one way; whilst if Monaco is the subject of conversation, the same word 'play,' under the influence of a different suppositio, excites altogether different ideas. Hence to ignore the suppositio is a great source of fallacies of equivocation. 'Man' is generally defined as a kind of animal; but 'animal' is often used as opposed to and excluding man. 'Liberal' has one meaning under the suppositio of politics, another with regard to culture, and still another as to the disposal of one's private means. Clearly, therefore, the connotation of general terms is relative to the suppositio, or "universe of discourse."
The context of any statement always relies on certain assumptions or understandings about the subject being discussed, which shapes how every statement and word is interpreted. De Morgan referred to this as the "universe of discourse," but an older term that was revived by Dr. Venn, and is certainly a better one, is suppositio. If we are talking about children and the word 'play' comes up, the suppositio limits what the word implies in one way. However, if the topic is Monaco, the same word 'play,' influenced by a different suppositio, brings to mind entirely different ideas. Therefore, ignoring the suppositio can lead to many misunderstandings due to ambiguous meanings. 'Man' is usually defined as a type of animal, but 'animal' is often used to mean something that excludes man. 'Liberal' has one meaning in a political context, another regarding culture, and yet another when it comes to handling one's personal finances. Clearly, then, the meaning of general terms is relative to the suppositio, or "universe of discourse."
§ 5. Relative and Absolute Terms.—Some words go in couples or groups: like 'up-down,' 'former-latter,' 'father-mother-children,' 'hunter-prey,' 'cause-effect,' etc. These are called Relative Terms, and their nature, as explained by Mill, is that the connotations of the members of such a pair or group are derived from the same set of facts (the fundamentum relationis). There cannot be an 'up' without a 'down,' a 'father' without a 'mother' and 'child'; there cannot be a 'hunter' without something hunted, nor 'prey' without a pursuer. What makes a man a 'hunter' is his activities in pursuit; and what turns a chamois into 'prey' is its interest in these activities. The meaning of both terms, therefore, is derived from the [Pg 44]same set of facts; neither term can be explained without explaining the other, because the relation between them is connoted by both; and neither can with propriety be used without reference to the other, or to some equivalent, as 'game' for 'prey.'
§ 5. Relative and Absolute Terms.—Some words come in pairs or groups: like 'up-down,' 'former-latter,' 'father-mother-children,' 'hunter-prey,' 'cause-effect,' etc. These are called Relative Terms, and as Mill explained, the meanings of the members of such pairs or groups come from the same set of facts (the fundamentum relationis). You can't have 'up' without 'down,' a 'father' without a 'mother' and 'child'; there can't be a 'hunter' without something being hunted, nor 'prey' without a pursuer. What makes someone a 'hunter' is their actions in pursuit; and what makes a chamois 'prey' is its role in these actions. The meanings of both terms, therefore, come from the [Pg 44]same set of facts; neither term can be understood without explaining the other because the relationship between them is reflected in both; and neither can properly be used without reference to the other or to something equivalent, like 'game' for 'prey.'
In contrast with such Relative Terms, others have been called Absolute or Non-relative. Whilst 'hunter' and 'prey' are relative, 'man' and 'chamois' have been considered absolute, as we may use them without thinking of any special connection between their meanings. However, if we believe in the unity of Nature and in the relativity of knowledge (that is, that all knowledge depends upon comparison, or a perception of the resemblances and differences of things), it follows that nothing can be completely understood except through its agreements or contrasts with everything else, and that all terms derive their connotation from the same set of facts, namely, from general experience. Thus both man and chamois are animals; this fact is an important part of the meaning of both terms, and to that extent they are relative terms. 'Five yards' and 'five minutes' are very different notions, yet they are profoundly related; for their very difference helps to make both notions distinct; and their intimate connection is shown in this, that five yards are traversed in a certain time, and that five minutes are measured by the motion of an index over some fraction of a yard upon the dial.
In contrast to relative terms, others are referred to as absolute or non-relative. While 'hunter' and 'prey' are relative, 'man' and 'chamois' are considered absolute since we can use them without thinking about any specific connection between their meanings. However, if we believe in the unity of nature and the relativity of knowledge (meaning that all knowledge relies on comparison or the perception of similarities and differences among things), it follows that nothing can be completely understood without considering its agreements or contrasts with everything else. All terms derive their meaning from the same set of facts, based on general experience. Thus, both man and chamois are animals; this fact is a crucial part of the meaning of both terms, which makes them relative terms to some extent. 'Five yards' and 'five minutes' are very different concepts, but they are deeply related; their differences help clarify both notions, and their close connection is evident in the fact that five yards are covered in a certain amount of time, and five minutes are measured by the movement of an index over a fraction of a yard on the dial.
The distinction, then, between relative and non-relative terms must rest, not upon a fundamental difference between them (since, in fact, all words are relative), but upon the way in which words are used. We have seen that some words, such as 'up-down,' 'cause-effect,' can only be used relatively; and these may, for distinction, be called Correlatives. But other words, whose meanings are only partially interdependent, may often be used without attending to their relativity, and may then be considered as[Pg 45] Absolute. We cannot say 'the hunter returned empty handed,' without implying that 'the prey escaped'; but we may say 'the man went supperless to bed,' without implying that 'the chamois rejoiced upon the mountain.' Such words as 'man' and 'chamois' may, then, in their use, be, as to one another, non-relative.
The difference between relative and non-relative terms shouldn’t depend on a fundamental distinction between them (since all words are actually relative), but rather on how the words are used. We’ve seen that some words, like ‘up-down’ and ‘cause-effect,’ can only be used in a relative sense; we can call these Correlatives for clarity. However, other words, whose meanings are only somewhat related, can often be used without considering their relativity, and can be seen as[Pg 45] Absolute. We can’t say ‘the hunter returned empty handed’ without suggesting that ‘the prey escaped’; but we can say ‘the man went supperless to bed’ without implying that ‘the chamois rejoiced upon the mountain.’ Therefore, words like ‘man’ and ‘chamois’ can be used as non-relative in relation to each other.
To illustrate further the relativity of terms, we may mention some of the chief classes of them.
To further illustrate the relativity of terms, we can mention some of the main categories of them.
Numerical order: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.; 1st implies 2nd, and 2nd 1st; and 3rd implies 1st and 2nd, but these do not imply 3rd; and so on.
Numerical order: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.; 1st implies 2nd, and 2nd implies 1st; and 3rd implies 1st and 2nd, but these do not imply 3rd; and so on.
Order in Time or Place: before-after; early-punctual-late; right-middle-left; North-South, etc.
Order in Time or Place: before-after; early-on-time-late; right-middle-left; North-South, etc.
As to Extent, Volume, and Degree: greater-equal-less; large-medium-small; whole and part.
As for Extent, Volume, and Degree: greater-equal-less; large-medium-small; whole and part.
Genus and Species are a peculiar case of whole and part (cf. chaps. xxi.-ii.-iii.). Sometimes a term connotes all the attributes that another does, and more besides, which, as distinguishing it, are called differential. Thus 'man' connotes all that 'animal' does, and also (as differentiæ) the erect gait, articulate speech, and other attributes. In such a case as this, where there are well-marked classes, the term whose connotation is included in the others' is called a Genus of that Species. We have a Genus, triangle; and a Species, isosceles, marked off from all other triangles by the differential quality of having two equal sides: again—Genus, book; Species, quarto; Difference, having each sheet folded into four leaves.
Genus and Species are an interesting example of the whole and the part (cf. chaps. xxii.-ii.-iii.). Sometimes a term includes all the characteristics of another term, along with additional ones that differentiate it—these are called differential. For example, 'man' includes everything that 'animal' does, and also (as differentiæ) features like upright walking, spoken language, and other qualities. In cases like this, where there are clearly defined categories, the term that is included in the meaning of the others is called a Genus of that Species. We have a Genus, triangle; and a Species, isosceles, distinguished from all other triangles by the unique quality of having two equal sides: again—Genus, book; Species, quarto; Difference, having each sheet folded into four leaves.
There are other cases where these expressions 'genus' and 'species' cannot be so applied without a departure from usage, as, e.g., if we call snow a species of the genus 'white,' for 'white' is not a recognised class. The connotation of white (i.e., whiteness) is, however, part of the connotation of snow, just as the qualities of 'animal' are amongst those of 'man'; and for logical purposes it is desirable to use 'genus and species' to express that [Pg 46]relativity of terms which consists in the connotation of one being part of the connotation of the other.
There are other situations where the terms 'genus' and 'species' can’t be applied without straying from their traditional meanings. For example, if we label snow as a species of the genus 'white,' it's not accurate because 'white' isn't a recognized category. However, the meaning of whiteness is part of what defines snow, just as the characteristics of 'animal' relate to those of 'man.' For logical clarity, it's useful to use 'genus and species' to highlight the way one term's meaning is connected to another's.
Two or more terms whose connotations severally include that of another term, whilst at the same time exceeding it, are (in relation to that other term) called Co-ordinate. Thus in relation to 'white,' snow and silver are co-ordinate; in relation to colour, yellow and red and blue are co-ordinate. And when all the terms thus related stand for recognised natural classes, the co-ordinate terms are called co-ordinate species; thus man and chamois are (in Logic) co-ordinate species of the genus animal.
Two or more terms that each have meanings that include another term, while also going beyond it, are referred to as Co-ordinate in relation to that other term. For example, in relation to 'white,' snow and silver are co-ordinate; in relation to color, yellow, red, and blue are co-ordinate. When all the related terms represent recognized natural classes, they are called co-ordinate species; for instance, humans and chamois are (in logic) co-ordinate species of the genus animal.
§ 6. From such examples of terms whose connotations are related as whole and part, it is easy to see the general truth of the doctrine that as connotation decreases, denotation increases: for 'animal,' with less connotation than man or chamois, denotes many more objects; 'white,' with less connotation than snow or silver, denotes many more things, It is not, however, certain that this doctrine is always true in the concrete: since there may be a term connoting two or more qualities, all of which qualities are peculiar to all the things it denotes; and, if so, by subtracting one of the qualities from its connotation, we should not increase its denotation. If 'man,' for example, has among mammals the two peculiar attributes of erect gait and articulate speech, then, by omitting 'articulate speech' from the connotation of man, we could not apply the name to any more of the existing mammalia than we can at present. Still we might have been able to do so; there might have been an erect inarticulate ape, and perhaps there once was one; and, if so, to omit 'articulate' from the connotation of man would make the term 'man' denote that animal (supposing that there was no other difference to exclude it). Hence, potentially, an increase of the connotation of any term implies a decrease of its denotation. And, on the other hand, we can only increase the denotation of a term, or apply it to more objects, by decreasing its connotation; [Pg 47]for, if the new things denoted by the term had already possessed its whole connotation, they must already have been denoted by it. However, we may increase the known denotation without decreasing the connotation, if we can discover the full connotation in things not formerly supposed to have it, as when dolphins were discovered to be mammals; or if we can impose the requisite qualities upon new individuals, as when by annexing some millions of Africans we extend the denotation of 'British subject' without altering its connotation.
§ 6. From examples of terms whose meanings relate as whole and part, it's clear that the general idea of the principle—that as connotation decreases, denotation increases—is often true. For instance, 'animal,' with less connotation than 'man' or 'chamois,' refers to many more things; 'white,' with less connotation than 'snow' or 'silver,' also signifies many more items. However, it’s not always guaranteed that this principle holds true in real situations. A term can convey two or more qualities, all of which are unique to the things it describes; if this is the case, removing one quality from its connotation won’t necessarily increase its denotation. For example, if 'man' in the mammal category has the unique traits of walking upright and being able to speak, then if we remove 'articulate speech' from the meaning of 'man,' we wouldn’t be able to apply the term to more existing mammals than we currently can. Though there might have been an upright but non-speaking ape in the past; if that were the case, removing 'articulate' from the meaning of 'man' would allow it to denote that creature (assuming no other differences would exclude it). Therefore, in theory, an increase in the connotation of any term suggests a decrease in its denotation. Conversely, we can only broaden the denotation of a term by reducing its connotation; [Pg 47]because if the new things described by the term already possessed its full connotation, they would have already been included by it. However, we can increase the known denotation without decreasing connotation if we discover that things, previously thought not to have it, actually do share the full connotation—like when dolphins were found to be mammals—or if we assign the necessary qualities to new individuals, like when we include millions of Africans as 'British subjects' without changing its meaning.
Many of the things noticed in this chapter, especially in this section and the preceding, will be discussed at greater length in the chapters on Classification and Definition.
Many of the things mentioned in this chapter, particularly in this section and the one before it, will be discussed in more detail in the chapters on Classification and Definition.
§ 7. Contradictory Relative Terms.—Every term has, or may have, another corresponding with it in such a way that, whatever differential qualities (§ 5) it connotes, this other connotes merely their absence; so that one or the other is always formally predicable of any Subject, but both these terms are never predicable of the same Subject in the same relation: such pairs of terms are called Contradictories. Whatever Subject we take, it is either visible or invisible, but not both; either human or non-human, but not both.
§ 7. Contradictory Relative Terms.—Every term has, or can have, another term that corresponds to it in such a way that, regardless of any specific qualities (§ 5) it implies, the other term simply implies their absence; thus, one or the other can always be properly attributed to any Subject, but both terms can never apply to the same Subject in the same way: these pairs of terms are called Contradictories. For any Subject we consider, it is either visible or invisible, but not both; either human or non-human, but not both.
This at least is true formally, though in practice we should think ourselves trifled with if any one told us that 'A mountain is either human or non-human, but not both.' It is symbolic terms, such as X and x, that are properly said to be contradictories in relation to any subject whatever, S or M. For, as we have seen, the ordinary use of terms is limited by some suppositio, and this is true of Contradictories. 'Human' and 'non-human' may refer to zoological classification, or to the scope of physical, mental, or moral powers—as if we ask whether to flourish a dumbbell of a ton weight, or to know the future by intuition, or impeccability, be human or non-human. Similarly, 'visible' and 'invisible' refer either to the power of emitting or reflecting light, so that the words have no hold [Pg 48]upon a sound or a scent, or else to power of vision and such qualifications as 'with the naked eye' or 'with a microscope.'
This is at least formally true, but in practice, we would feel mocked if someone told us that 'A mountain is either human or non-human, but not both.' It's symbolic terms, like X and x, that are properly considered contradictories in relation to any subject, S or M. As we've seen, the ordinary use of terms is limited by some suppositio, and this holds true for contradictories. 'Human' and 'non-human' can refer to classifications in zoology, or to the range of physical, mental, or moral abilities—like asking whether lifting a ton weight dumbbell, knowing the future intuitively, or being flawless is human or non-human. Similarly, 'visible' and 'invisible' refer either to the ability to emit or reflect light, meaning the words don't apply to sound or scent, or to the ability to see and qualifications like 'with the naked eye' or 'with a microscope.' [Pg 48]
Again, the above definition of Contradictories tells us that they cannot be predicated of the same Subject "in the same relation"; that is, at the same time or place, or under the same conditions. The lamp is visible to me now, but will be invisible if I turn it out; one side of it is now visible, but the other is not: therefore without this restriction, "in the same relation," few or no terms would be contradictory.
Again, the definition of Contradictories mentioned above tells us that they can't be applied to the same Subject "in the same relation"; that is, at the same time or place, or under the same conditions. The lamp is visible to me right now, but it will be invisible if I turn it off; one side of it is visible right now, but the other side isn't: therefore, without this limitation of "in the same relation," few or no terms would truly be contradictory.
If a man is called wise, it may mean 'on the whole' or 'in a certain action'; and clearly a man may for once be wise (or act wisely) who, on the whole, is not-wise. So that here again, by this ambiguity, terms that seem contradictory are predicable of the same subject, but not "in the same relation." In order to avoid the ambiguity, however, we have only to construct the term so as to express the relation, as 'wise on the whole'; and this immediately generates the contradictory 'not-wise on the whole.' Similarly, at one age a man may have black hair, at another not-black hair; but the difficulty is practically removable by stating the age referred to.
If someone is described as wise, it might mean 'generally speaking' or 'in a specific situation'; and obviously, a person can be wise (or act wisely) at one moment while being generally unwise. So here again, because of this ambiguity, terms that seem opposite can actually apply to the same person, but not "in the same way." To eliminate the confusion, we just need to clarify the term to show the relation, like saying 'wise in general'; this easily creates the opposite 'not-wise in general.' Similarly, at one age, a person can have black hair, and at another, they can have non-black hair; but the issue can be easily resolved by mentioning the age in question.
Still, this case easily leads us to a real difficulty in the use of contradictory terms, a difficulty arising from the continuous change or 'flux' of natural phenomena. If things are continually changing, it may be urged that contradictory terms are always applicable to the same subject, at least as fast as we can utter them: for if we have just said that a man's hair is black, since (like everything else) his hair is changing, it must now be not-black, though (to be sure) it may still seem black. The difficulty, such as it is, lies in this, that the human mind and its instrument language are not equal to the subtlety of Nature. All things flow, but the terms of human discourse assume a certain fixity of things; everything at every moment changes, but for the [Pg 49]most part we can neither perceive this change nor express it in ordinary language.
Still, this situation easily points to a real challenge in using contradictory terms, a challenge that comes from the constant change or 'flux' of natural phenomena. If things are always changing, it could be argued that contradictory terms are always relevant to the same subject, at least as quickly as we can say them: for if we just said that a man's hair is black, since (like everything else) his hair is changing, it must now be not-black, even though (of course) it may still appear black. The challenge, as it is, lies in the fact that the human mind and its tool language cannot match the complexity of Nature. Everything is in motion, but the terms we use in human communication assume a certain permanence of things; everything changes at every moment, yet for the most part we can neither see this change nor express it in everyday language.
This paradox, however, may, I suppose, be easily over-stated. The change that continually agitates Nature consists in the movements of masses or molecules, and such movements of things are compatible with a considerable persistence of their qualities. Not only are the molecular changes always going on in a piece of gold compatible with its remaining yellow, but its persistent yellowness depends on the continuance of some of those changes. Similarly, a man's hair may remain black for some years; though, no doubt, at a certain age its colour may begin to be problematical, and the applicability to it of 'black' or 'not-black' may become a matter of genuine anxiety. Whilst being on our guard, then, against fallacies of contradiction arising from the imperfect correspondence of fact with thought and language, we shall often have to put up with it. Candour and humility having been satisfied by the above acknowledgment of the subtlety of Nature, we may henceforward proceed upon the postulate—that it is possible to use contradictory terms such as cannot both be predicated of the same subject in the same relation, though one of them may be; that, for example, it may be truly said of a man for some years that his hair is black; and, if so, that during those years to call it not-black is false or extremely misleading.
This paradox, however, may be easily overstated. The constant changes in Nature are caused by the movements of masses or molecules, and these movements are compatible with a significant stability in their qualities. Not only do the molecular changes happening in a piece of gold allow it to remain yellow, but its lasting yellowness actually depends on some of those changes continuing. Similarly, a man’s hair can stay black for several years; however, at a certain age, its color may start to become uncertain, and whether it’s described as 'black' or 'not-black' may genuinely cause concern. While we should be cautious of contradictions that arise from the imperfect alignment of fact with thought and language, we will often have to accept it. With honesty and humility in mind, acknowledging the complexity of Nature, we can move forward on the assumption that it is possible to use contradictory terms that cannot both accurately describe the same subject in the same context, though one of them might. For example, it can accurately be said that a man’s hair is black for some years; during those years, calling it not-black would be false or very misleading.
The most opposed terms of the literary vocabulary, however, such as 'wise-foolish,' 'old-young,' 'sweet-bitter,' are rarely true contradictories: wise and foolish, indeed, cannot be predicated of the same man in the same relation; but there are many middling men, of whom neither can be predicated on the whole. For the comparison of quantities, again, we have three correlative terms, 'greater—equal—less,' and none of these is the contradictory of either of the others. In fact, the contradictory of any term is one that denotes the sum of its [Pg 50]co-ordinates (§ 6); and to obtain a contradictory, the surest way is to coin one by prefixing to the given term the particle 'not' or (sometimes) 'non': as 'wise, not-wise,' 'human, non-human,' 'greater, not-greater.'
The most contrasting terms in literary vocabulary, like 'wise-foolish,' 'old-young,' and 'sweet-bitter,' are rarely genuine contradictions. Wise and foolish, for example, can’t be used to describe the same person in the same context; however, there are many average people to whom neither term fully applies. When we look at comparisons of quantities, we have three related terms: 'greater—equal—less,' and none of these is the contradiction of the others. In fact, the contradiction of any term represents the total of its [Pg 50]coordinates (§ 6); and to create a contradiction, the easiest way is to add the prefix 'not' or sometimes 'non' to the given term: for instance, 'wise, not-wise,' 'human, non-human,' 'greater, not-greater.'
The separate word 'not' is surer to constitute a contradictory than the usual prefixes of negation, 'un-' or 'in-,' or even 'non'; since compounds of these are generally warped by common use from a purely negative meaning. Thus, 'Nonconformist' does not denote everybody who fails to conform. 'Unwise' is not equivalent to 'not-wise,' but means 'rather foolish'; a very foolish action is not-wise, but can only be called unwise by meiosis or irony. Still, negatives formed by 'in' or 'un' or 'non' are sometimes really contradictory of their positives; as 'visible, invisible,' 'equal, unequal.'
The separate word 'not' is more likely to create a contradiction than the usual negation prefixes like 'un-', 'in-', or even 'non'; because compounds with these prefixes are often twisted by common usage away from a purely negative meaning. For example, 'Nonconformist' doesn't refer to everyone who doesn't conform. 'Unwise' isn’t the same as 'not-wise'; it actually means 'quite foolish'; a very foolish action might be labeled as not-wise, but can really only be called unwise in a minimized or ironic sense. However, negatives formed with 'in', 'un', or 'non' can sometimes genuinely contradict their positive forms; like 'visible, invisible,' 'equal, unequal.'
§ 8. The distinction between Positive and Negative terms is not of much value in Logic, what importance would else attach to it being absorbed by the more definite distinction of contradictories. For contradictories are positive and negative in essence and, when least ambiguously stated, also in form. And, on the other hand, as we have seen, when positive and negative terms are not contradictory, they are misleading. As with 'wise-unwise,' so with many others, such as 'happy-unhappy'; which are not contradictories; since a man may be neither happy nor unhappy, but indifferent, or (again) so miserable that he can only be called unhappy by a figure of speech. In fact, in the common vocabulary a formal negative often has a limited positive sense; and this is the case with unhappy, signifying the state of feeling in the milder shades of Purgatory.
§ 8. The difference between positive and negative terms isn't very useful in logic; otherwise, it would just be absorbed by the clearer distinction of contradictories. Contradictories are essentially positive and negative, and when stated clearly, they reflect that in form as well. On the other hand, as we've seen, when positive and negative terms aren't contradictory, they can be confusing. Just like 'wise-unwise', there are many others, such as 'happy-unhappy', which aren't true opposites. A person can be neither happy nor unhappy but indifferent, or so miserable that they can only be called unhappy as a figure of speech. In fact, in everyday language, a formal negative often has a limited positive sense; this is the case with 'unhappy,' which refers to a state of feeling in the milder shades of Purgatory.
When a Negative term is fully contradictory of its Positive it is said to be Infinite; because it denotes an unascertained multitude of things, a multitude only limited by the positive term and the suppositio; thus 'not-wise' denotes all except the wise, within the suppositio of 'intelligent [Pg 51]beings.' Formally (disregarding any suppositio), such a negative term stands for all possible terms except its positive: x denotes everything but X; and 'not-wise' may be taken to include stones, triangles and hippogriffs. And even in this sense, a negative term has some positive meaning, though a very indefinite one, not a specific positive force like 'unwise' or 'unhappy': it denotes any and everything that has not the attributes connoted by the corresponding positive term.
When a negative term is completely opposite to its positive counterpart, it’s described as infinite; this is because it represents an unknown number of things, limited only by the positive term and the suppositio. So, 'not-wise' includes everything except the wise, within the suppositio of 'intelligent [Pg 51]beings.' Formally (ignoring any suppositio), such a negative term represents all possible terms except its positive: x refers to everything except X; and 'not-wise' could include stones, triangles, and hippogriffs. Even in this context, a negative term carries some positive meaning, albeit a very vague one, unlike specific positive terms such as 'unwise' or 'unhappy': it signifies anything that doesn't have the attributes associated with the corresponding positive term.
Privative Terms connote the absence of a quality that normally belongs to the kind of thing denoted, as 'blind' or 'deaf.' We may predicate 'blind' or 'deaf' of a man, dog or cow that happens not to be able to see or hear, because the powers of seeing and hearing generally belong to those species; but of a stone or idol these terms can only be used figuratively. Indeed, since the contradictory of a privative carries with it the privative limitation, a stone is strictly 'not-blind': that is, it is 'not-something-that-normally-having-sight-wants-it.'
Privative terms refer to the lack of a quality that typically applies to the type of thing being mentioned, like 'blind' or 'deaf.' We can say someone is 'blind' or 'deaf' if a person, dog, or cow can't see or hear, as those abilities usually belong to those species. However, when it comes to a stone or idol, these terms can only be used in a metaphorical sense. In fact, since the opposite of a privative includes the privative limitation, a stone is technically 'not-blind': meaning, it is 'not-something-that-normally-having-sight-wants-it.'
Contrary Terms are those that (within a certain genus or suppositio) severally connote differential qualities that are, in fact, mutually incompatible in the same relation to the same thing, and therefore cannot be predicated of the same subject in the same relation; and, so far, they resemble Contradictory Terms: but they differ from contradictory terms in this, that the differential quality connoted by each of them is definitely positive; no Contrary Term is infinite, but is limited to part of the suppositio excluded by the others; so that, possibly, neither of two Contraries is truly predicable of a given subject. Thus 'blue' and 'red' are Contraries, for they cannot both be predicated of the same thing in the same relation; but are not Contradictories, since, in a given case, neither may be predicable: if a flower is blue in a certain part, it cannot in the same part be red; but it may be neither blue nor red, but yellow; though it is certainly either blue or not-blue. All co-[Pg 52]ordinate terms are formal Contraries; but if, in fact, a series of co-ordinates comprises only two (as male-female), they are empirical Contradictories; since each includes all that area of the suppositio which the other excludes.
Contrary Terms are those that (within a certain category or suppositio) imply different qualities that are actually incompatible in relation to the same thing, and therefore cannot be applied to the same subject in the same context; in this way, they are similar to Contradictory Terms. However, they differ from contradictory terms in that the quality associated with each is clearly defined; no Contrary Term is infinite but is confined to part of the suppositio that is excluded by the others; thus, neither of the two Contraries may actually apply to a particular subject. For example, 'blue' and 'red' are Contraries because they cannot both describe the same thing in the same way; but they are not Contradictories, since in certain cases, neither may apply: if a flower is blue in one part, it cannot be red in that same part; yet, it might be neither blue nor red, but yellow; although it is definitely either blue or not-blue. All co-[Pg 52]ordinate terms are formal Contraries; but if a series of co-ordinates includes only two (like male-female), they are real Contradictories, since each encompasses all the area of the suppositio that the other leaves out.
The extremes of a series of co-ordinate terms are Opposites; as, in a list of colours, white and black, the most strongly contrasted, are said to be opposites, or as among moods of feeling, rapture and misery are opposites. But this distinction is of slight logical importance. Imperfect Positive and Negative couples, like 'happy and unhappy,' which (as we have seen) are not contradictories, are often called Opposites.
The extremes of a series of coordinate terms are opposites; for example, in a list of colors, white and black, which are the most strongly contrasted, are called opposites, or in terms of emotions, joy and sadness are opposites. However, this distinction is not very important logically. Imperfect positive and negative pairs, like 'happy and unhappy,' which (as we've seen) are not real contradictions, are often referred to as opposites.
The members of any series of Contraries are all included by any one of them and its contradictory, as all colours come under 'red' and 'not-red,' all moods of feeling under 'happy' and 'not-happy.'
The members of any series of Contraries are all encompassed by any one of them and its opposite, just as all colors fall under 'red' and 'not-red,' and all feelings of emotion fall under 'happy' and 'not-happy.'
CHAPTER V
THE CLASSIFICATION OF PROPOSITIONS
As to Quantity, propositions are either Universal or Particular; that is to say, the predicate is affirmed or denied either of the whole subject or of a part of it—of All or of Some S.
As for Quantity, statements are either Universal or Particular; this means that the predicate is confirmed or rejected either for the entire subject or for part of it—either for All or for Some S.
An Universal Proposition may have for its subject a singular term, a collective, a general term distributed, or an abstract term.
An universal proposition can have as its subject a specific term, a collective term, a general term that is distributed, or an abstract term.
(1) A proposition having a singular term for its subject, as The Queen has gone to France, is called a Singular Proposition; and some Logicians regard this as a third species of proposition with respect to quantity, distinct from the Universal and Particular; but that is needless.
(1) A statement that has a single term as its subject, like The Queen has gone to France, is called a Singular Proposition; and some logicians view this as a third type of statement regarding quantity, separate from Universal and Particular; but that's unnecessary.
(2) A collective term may be the subject, as The Black Watch is ordered to India. In this case, as well as in singular propositions, a predication is made concerning the whole subject as a whole.
(2) A collective term can be the subject, as The Black Watch is ordered to India. In this case, just like in singular statements, a predication is made about the entire subject as a whole.
(3) The subject may be a general term taken in its full denotation, as All apes are sagacious; and in this case a Predication is made concerning the whole subject distributively; that is, of each and everything the subject stands for.
(3) The subject can be a broad term understood in its complete meaning, like All apes are smart; in this case, a statement is made about the entire subject individually; that is, about each and every item the subject represents.
(4) Propositions whose subjects are abstract terms, [Pg 54]though they may seem to be formally Singular, are really as to their meaning distributive Universals; since whatever is true of a quality is true of whatever thing has that quality so far as that quality is concerned. Truth will prevail means that All true propositions are accepted at last (by sheer force of being true, in spite of interests, prejudices, ignorance and indifference). To bear this in mind may make one cautious in the use of abstract terms.
(4) Statements that involve abstract concepts, [Pg 54]even if they seem to be singular in form, actually convey distributive universals in meaning; because whatever is true about a quality applies to anything that possesses that quality. Truth will prevail means that All true statements will ultimately be recognized (because they are true, regardless of interests, biases, ignorance, and apathy). Keeping this in mind might encourage one to be careful when using abstract terms.
In the above paragraphs a distinction is implied between Singular and Distributive Universals; but, technically, every term, whether subject or predicate, when taken in its full denotation (or universally), is said to be 'distributed,' although this word, in its ordinary sense, would be directly applicable only to general terms. In the above examples, then, 'Queen,' 'Black Watch,' 'apes,' and 'truth' are all distributed terms. Indeed, a simple definition of the Universal Proposition is 'one whose subject is distributed.'
In the previous paragraphs, there’s a distinction made between Singular and Distributive Universals; however, technically, every term, whether it’s a subject or a predicate, when taken in its complete meaning (or universally), is considered 'distributed.' Although, in everyday language, this term usually applies only to general terms. So, in the examples above, 'Queen,' 'Black Watch,' 'apes,' and 'truth' are all considered distributed terms. In fact, a straightforward definition of a Universal Proposition is 'one whose subject is distributed.'
A Particular Proposition is one that has a general term for its subject, whilst its predicate is not affirmed or denied of everything the subject denotes; in other words, it is one whose subject is not distributed: as Some lions inhabit Africa.
A Particular Proposition is one that has a general term as its subject, but its predicate is not affirmed or denied for everything that the subject refers to; in other words, its subject is not fully represented: as Some lions inhabit Africa.
In ordinary discourse it is not always explicitly stated whether predication is universal or particular; it would be very natural to say Lions inhabit Africa, leaving it, as far as the words go, uncertain whether we mean all or some lions. Propositions whose quantity is thus left indefinite are technically called 'preindesignate,' their quantity not being stated or designated by any introductory expression; whilst propositions whose quantity is expressed, as All foundling-hospitals have a high death-rate, or Some wine is made from grapes, are said to be 'predesignate.' Now, the rule is that preindesignate propositions are, for logical purposes, to be treated as particular; since it is an obvious precaution of the science of proof, in any practical application, not to go beyond the evidence. Still, the rule may be [Pg 55]relaxed if the universal quantity of a preindesignate proposition is well known or admitted, as in Planets shine with reflected light—understood of the planets of our solar system at the present time. Again, such a proposition as Man is the paragon of animals is not a preindesignate, but an abstract proposition; the subject being elliptical for Man according to his proper nature; and the translation of it into a predesignate proposition is not All men are paragons; nor can Some men be sufficient, since an abstract can only be adequately rendered by a distributed term; but we must say, All men who approach the ideal. Universal real propositions, true without qualification, are very scarce; and we often substitute for them general propositions, saying perhaps—generally, though not universally, S is P. Such general propositions are, in strictness, particular; and the logical rules concerning universals cannot be applied to them without careful scrutiny of the facts.
In everyday conversation, it's not always clear whether we're talking about all or some instances when we make a statement. For example, saying Lions inhabit Africa leaves it ambiguous whether we mean all or some lions. Propositions that don't specify their quantity are called 'preindesignate,' as they don't indicate this with any introductory words. In contrast, propositions that do specify quantity, such as All foundling-hospitals have a high death-rate or Some wine is made from grapes, are referred to as 'predesignate.' The guideline is that preindesignate propositions should be treated as particular for logical purposes because it's a basic practice in proof science to not go beyond the evidence. However, this guideline can be relaxed if we commonly understand the universal quantity of a preindesignate statement, like in Planets shine with reflected light—which is understood to refer to the planets in our solar system right now. Additionally, a statement like Man is the paragon of animals is not preindesignate; it's an abstract proposition, implying Man according to his proper nature. It can't be translated into a predesignate statement as All men are paragons, nor can Some men suffice, since an abstract needs to be represented by a distributed term; instead, we could say All men who approach the ideal. True universal real propositions are quite rare, and we often replace them with general propositions, stating perhaps—generally, though not universally, S is P. These general propositions are technically particular, and logical rules about universals can't be applied to them without carefully examining the facts.
The marks or predesignations of Quantity commonly used in Logic are: for Universals, All, Any, Every, Whatever (in the negative No or No one, see next §); for Particulars, Some.
The terms or labels for Quantity often used in Logic are: for Universals, All, Any, Every, Whatever (in the negative No or No one, see next §); for Particulars, Some.
Now Some, technically used, does not mean Some only, but Some at least (it may be one, or more, or all). If it meant 'Some only,' every particular proposition would be an exclusive exponible (chap. ii. § 3); since Only some men are wise implies that Some men are not wise. Besides, it may often happen in an investigation that all the instances we have observed come under a certain rule, though we do not yet feel justified in regarding the rule as universal; and this situation is exactly met by the expression Some (it may be all).
Now Some, when used technically, does not mean Some only, but Some at least (it could be one, several, or all). If it meant Some only, then every specific statement would be an exclusive instance (chap. ii. § 3); for example, Only some men are wise suggests that Some men are not wise. Furthermore, it's often possible in an investigation that all the cases we have seen fit a certain rule, even though we don’t yet feel justified in considering the rule as universal; and this scenario is precisely captured by the term Some (it may be all).
The words Many, Most, Few are generally interpreted to mean Some; but as Most signifies that exceptions are known, and Few that the exceptions are the more numerous, propositions thus predesignate are in fact exponibles, mounting to Some are and Some are not. If to work with [Pg 56]both forms be too cumbrous, so that we must choose one, apparently Few are should be treated as Some are not. The scientific course to adopt with propositions predesignate by Most or Few, is to collect statistics and determine the percentage; thus, Few men are wise—say 2 per cent.
The words Many, Most, and Few are usually understood to mean Some; however, since Most indicates that there are known exceptions, and Few implies that the exceptions are more numerous, the propositions defined this way are actually expandable to Some are and Some are not. If working with both forms is too cumbersome, so that we must choose one, it seems that Few are should be treated as Some are not. The scientific approach to take with propositions indicated by Most or Few is to gather statistics and figure out the percentage; thus, Few men are wise—let's say 2 percent.
The Quantity of a proposition, then, is usually determined entirely by the quantity of the subject, whether all or some. Still, the quantity of the predicate is often an important consideration; and though in ordinary usage the predicate is seldom predesignate, Logicians agree that in every Negative Proposition (see § 2) the predicate is 'distributed,' that is to say, is denied altogether of the subject, and that this is involved in the form of denial. To say Some men are not brave, is to declare that the quality for which men may be called brave is not found in any of the Some men referred to: and to say No men are proof against flattery, cuts off the being 'proof against flattery' entirely from the list of human attributes. On the other hand, every Affirmative Proposition is regarded as having an undistributed predicate; that is to say, its predicate is not affirmed exclusively of the subject. Some men are wise does not mean that 'wise' cannot be predicated of any other beings; it is equivalent to Some men are wise (whoever else may be). And All elephants are sagacious does not limit sagacity to elephants: regarding 'sagacious' as possibly denoting many animals of many species that exhibit the quality, this proposition is equivalent to 'All elephants are some sagacious animals.' The affirmative predication of a quality does not imply exclusive possession of it as denial implies its complete absence; and, therefore, to regard the predicate of an affirmative proposition as distributed would be to go beyond the evidence and to take for granted what had never been alleged.
The quantity of a proposition is usually determined completely by the quantity of the subject, whether it refers to all or some. However, the quantity of the predicate can also be an important factor; and even though in everyday use the predicate is rarely specified, logicians agree that in every Negative Proposition (see § 2) the predicate is 'distributed,' meaning it is entirely denied of the subject, which is implied in the way the denial is expressed. To say Some men are not brave means that the quality that defines bravery is not found in any of those Some men mentioned: and to say No men are proof against flattery completely removes the quality of being 'proof against flattery' from the list of human traits. On the flip side, every Affirmative Proposition is seen as having an undistributed predicate; this means its predicate is not solely affirmed for the subject. Saying Some men are wise doesn’t mean that 'wise' can’t apply to anyone else; it is equivalent to Some men are wise (along with anyone else who might be). Also, All elephants are sagacious doesn’t restrict sagacity to elephants: by considering 'sagacious' as possibly involving many different animals of various species that showcase this quality, this proposition is equivalent to 'All elephants are some sagacious animals.' Affirming a quality doesn’t imply exclusive ownership of it, just as denial implies its total absence; thus, to think of the predicate of an affirmative proposition as distributed would be to extend beyond the evidence and assume what hasn’t been stated.
Some Logicians, seeing that the quantity of predicates, though not distinctly expressed, is recognised, and holding that it is the part of Logic "to make explicit in language [Pg 57]whatever is implicit in thought," have proposed to exhibit the quantity of predicates by predesignation, thus: 'Some men are some wise (beings)'; 'some men are not any brave (beings)'; etc. This is called the Quantification of the Predicate, and leads to some modifications of Deductive Logic which will be referred to hereafter. (See § 5; chap. vii. § 4, and chap. viii. § 3.)
Some logicians, noticing that the quantity of predicates, even if not clearly stated, is understood, and believing that it is the role of logic "to make explicit in language [Pg 57]whatever is implicit in thought," have suggested showing the quantity of predicates through predesignation, like this: 'Some men are some wise (beings)'; 'some men are not any brave (beings)'; etc. This is known as the Quantification of the Predicate, and it leads to some changes in Deductive Logic that will be discussed later. (See § 5; chap. vii. § 4, and chap. viii. § 3.)
§ 2. As to Quality, Propositions are either Affirmative or Negative. An Affirmative Proposition is, formally, one whose copula is affirmative (or, has no negative sign), as S—is—P, All men—are—partial to themselves. A Negative Proposition is one whose copula is negative (or, has a negative sign), as S—is not—P, Some men—are not—proof against flattery. When, indeed, a Negative Proposition is of Universal Quantity, it is stated thus: No S is P, No men are proof against flattery; but, in this case, the detachment of the negative sign from the copula and its association with the subject is merely an accident of our idiom; the proposition is the same as All men—are not—proof against flattery. It must be distinguished, therefore, from such an expression as Not every man is proof against flattery; for here the negative sign really restricts the subject; so that the meaning is—Some men at most (it may be none) are proof against flattery; and thus the proposition is Particular, and is rendered—Some men—are not—proof against flattery.
§ 2. When it comes to quality, propositions are either affirmative or negative. An affirmative proposition is one where the copula is affirmative (or has no negative sign), like S—is—P, All men—are—partial to themselves. A negative proposition is one where the copula is negative (or has a negative sign), like S—is not—P, Some men—are not—proof against flattery. When a negative proposition is universal in quantity, it is expressed this way: No S is P, No men are proof against flattery; but in this instance, the negative sign's separation from the copula and its attachment to the subject is just a quirk of our language; the proposition is the same as All men—are not—proof against flattery. It must be distinguished from a phrase like Not every man is proof against flattery; here, the negative sign genuinely limits the subject, meaning that Some men at most (which could be none) are proof against flattery; so this proposition is particular and is stated as Some men—are not—proof against flattery.
When the negative sign is associated with the predicate, so as to make this an Infinite Term (chap. iv. § 8), the proposition is called an Infinite Proposition, as S is not-P (or p), All men are—incapable of resisting flattery, or are—not-proof against flattery.
When the negative sign is linked to the predicate, making it an Infinite Term (chap. iv. § 8), the statement is referred to as an Infinite Proposition, like S is not-P (or p), All men are—incapable of resisting flattery, or are—not-proof against flattery.
Infinite propositions, when the copula is affirmative, are formally, themselves affirmative, although their force is chiefly negative; for, as the last example shows, the difference between an infinite and a negative proposition may depend upon a hyphen. It has been proposed, indeed, [Pg 58]with a view to superficial simplification, to turn all Negatives into Infinites, and thus render all propositions Affirmative in Quality. But although every proposition both affirms and denies something according to the aspect in which you regard it (as Snow is white denies that it is any other colour, and Snow is not blue affirms that it is some other colour), yet there is a great difference between the definite affirmation of a genuine affirmative and the vague affirmation of a negative or infinite; so that materially an affirmative infinite is the same as a negative.
Infinite propositions, when the copula is affirmative, are formally affirmative but primarily have a negative meaning. As the last example illustrates, the difference between an infinite and a negative proposition can hinge on something as simple as a hyphen. It has indeed been suggested, for the sake of superficial simplicity, to change all negatives into infinitives, thereby making all propositions affirmative in nature. However, while every proposition affirms and denies something depending on how you look at it (for example, Snow is white denies that it is any other color, and Snow is not blue affirms that it is some other color), there is a significant difference between the clear affirmation of a true positive statement and the vague affirmation of a negative or infinite statement. Thus, in practical terms, an affirmative infinite is equivalent to a negative.
Generally Mill's remark is true, that affirmation and denial stand for distinctions of fact that cannot be got rid of by manipulation of words. Whether granite sinks in water, or not; whether the rook lives a hundred years, or not; whether a man has a hundred dollars in his pocket, or not; whether human bones have ever been found in Pliocene strata, or not; such alternatives require distinct forms of expression. At the same time, it may be granted that many facts admit of being stated with nearly equal propriety in either Quality, as No man is proof against flattery, or All men are open to flattery.
Generally, Mill's statement holds true: affirmation and denial represent factual distinctions that can't be changed just by rearranging words. Whether granite sinks in water or not, whether a rook lives for a hundred years or not, whether a man has a hundred dollars in his pocket or not, or whether human bones have ever been found in Pliocene layers or not—these options require clear forms of expression. At the same time, it's fair to say that many facts can be expressed with almost equal appropriateness in either way, as in No man is proof against flattery or All men are open to flattery.
But whatever advantage there is in occasionally changing the Quality of a proposition may be gained by the process of Obversion (chap. vii. § 5); whilst to use only one Quality would impair the elasticity of logical expression. It is a postulate of Logic that the negative sign may be transferred from the copula to the predicate, or from the predicate to the copula, without altering the sense of a proposition; and this is justified by the experience that not to have an attribute and to be without it are the same thing.
But any benefit of occasionally changing the Quality of a statement can be achieved through the process of Obversion (chap. vii. § 5); using only one Quality would limit the flexibility of logical expression. It's a basic principle of Logic that the negative sign can be moved from the copula to the predicate, or from the predicate to the copula, without changing the meaning of a statement; this is supported by the understanding that lacking an attribute and being without it convey the same idea.
A. | Universal Affirmative | — All S is P. |
I. | Particular Affirmative | — Some S is P. |
E. | Universal Negative | — No S is P. |
O. | Particular Negative | — Some S is not P. |
As an aid to the remembering of these symbols we may observe that A. and I. are the first two vowels in affirmo and that E. and O. are the vowels in nego.
As a way to help remember these symbols, we can note that A and I are the first two vowels in affirmo, while E and O are the vowels in nego.
It must be acknowledged that these four kinds of proposition recognised by Formal Logic constitute a very meagre selection from the list of propositions actually used in judgment and reasoning.
It should be recognized that these four types of propositions identified by Formal Logic represent a very limited selection from the range of propositions actually used in judgment and reasoning.
Those Logicians who explicitly quantify the predicate obtain, in all, eight forms of proposition according to Quantity and Quality:
Those Logicians who clearly define the predicate end up with a total of eight types of propositions based on Quantity and Quality:
U. | Toto-total Affirmative | — All X is all Y. |
A. | Toto-partial Affirmative | — All X is some Y. |
Y. | Parti-total Affirmative | — Some X is all Y. |
I. | Parti-partial Affirmative | — Some X is some Y. |
E. | Toto-total Negative | — No X is any Y. |
η. | Toto-partial Negative | — No X is some Y. |
O. | Parti-total Negative | — Some X is not any Y. |
ω. | Parti-partial Negative | — Some X is not some Y. |
Here A. I. E. O. correspond with those similarly symbolised in the usual list, merely designating in the predicates the quantity which was formerly treated as implicit.
Here A. I. E. O. correspond with those similarly represented in the usual list, simply indicating in the predicates the quantity that was previously considered implicit.
§ 4. As to Relation, propositions are either Categorical or Conditional. A Categorical Proposition is one in which the predicate is directly affirmed or denied of the subject without any limitation of time, place, or circumstance, extraneous to the subject, as All men in England are secure of justice; in which proposition, though there is a limitation of place ('in England'), it is included in the subject. Of this kind are nearly all the examples that have yet been given, according to the form S is P.
§ 4. Regarding Relation, propositions are either Categorical or Conditional. A Categorical Proposition is one where the predicate is either affirmed or denied of the subject without any restrictions of time, place, or circumstances unrelated to the subject, as in All men in England are secure of justice; in this proposition, even though there is a limitation of place ('in England'), it is part of the subject. Nearly all the examples that have been provided so far fall into this category, following the form S is P.
A Conditional Proposition is so called because the predication is made under some limitation or condition not included in the subject, as If a man live in England, he is secure of justice. Here the limitation 'living in England' is put into a conditional sentence extraneous to the subject, 'he,' representing any man.
A Conditional Proposition is named this way because the statement is made under a limitation or condition that is not part of the subject, as If a man lives in England, he is guaranteed justice. In this case, the limitation 'living in England' is placed in a conditional sentence that is separate from the subject, 'he,' which stands for any man.
Conditional propositions, again, are of two kinds—Hypothetical and Disjunctive. Hypothetical propositions are those that are limited by an explicit conditional sentence, as above, or thus: If Joe Smith was a prophet, his followers have been unjustly persecuted. Or in symbols thus:
Conditional propositions come in two types—Hypothetical and Disjunctive. Hypothetical propositions are those that are defined by a clear conditional statement, like the one above, or this: If Joe Smith was a prophet, his followers have been unjustly persecuted. Or in symbols like this:
If A equals B, then C equals D.
Disjunctive propositions are those in which the condition under which predication is made is not explicit but only implied under the disguise of an alternative proposition, as Joe Smith was either a prophet or an impostor. Here there is no direct predication concerning Joe Smith, but only a predication of one of the alternatives conditionally on the other being denied, as, If Joe Smith was not a prophet he was an impostor; or, If he was not an impostor, he was a prophet. Symbolically, Disjunctives may be represented thus:
Disjunctive propositions are those where the condition for making a statement isn't directly stated but is instead hinted at through an alternative statement, like Joe Smith was either a prophet or an impostor. In this case, there’s no clear statement about Joe Smith; instead, one of the alternatives is conditioned on the other being false, as in If Joe Smith wasn’t a prophet, he was an impostor; or If he wasn’t an impostor, he was a prophet. Symbolically, disjunctives can be represented like this:
Either A is B or C is D.
Formally, every Conditional may be expressed as a Categorical. For our last example shows how a Disjunctive may be reduced to two Hypotheticals (of which one is redundant, being the contrapositive of the other; see chap. vii. § 10). And a Hypothetical is reducible to a Categorical thus: If the sky is clear, the night is cold may be read—The case of the sky being clear is a case of the night being cold; and this, though a clumsy plan, is sometimes convenient. It would be better to say The sky being clear [Pg 61]is a sign of the night being cold, or a condition of it. For, as Mill says, the essence of a Hypothetical is to state that one clause of it (the indicative) may be inferred from the other (the conditional). Similarly, we might write: Proof of Joe Smith's not being a prophet is a proof of his being an impostor.
Formally, every Conditional can be expressed as a Categorical. Our last example shows how a Disjunctive can be simplified into two Hypotheticals (one of which is unnecessary since it's the contrapositive of the other; see chap. vii. § 10). A Hypothetical can be turned into a Categorical like this: If the sky is clear, the night is cold can be interpreted as The situation of the sky being clear is a situation of the night being cold; and while this is a bit awkward, it can be useful at times. It would be better to say The sky being clear [Pg 61]is a sign that the night is cold or a condition for it. As Mill says, the essence of a Hypothetical is to express that one part of it (the indicative) may be inferred from the other (the conditional). Similarly, we could write: Proof that Joe Smith isn't a prophet is proof that he's an impostor.
This turning of Conditionals into Categoricals is called a Change of Relation; and the process may be reversed: All the wise are virtuous may be written, If any man is wise he is virtuous; or, again, Either a man is not-wise or he is virtuous. But the categorical form is usually the simplest.
This shift from conditionals to categoricals is known as a Change of Relation, and the process can go the other way as well: All the wise are virtuous can be rephrased as If someone is wise, then they are virtuous; or, alternatively, Either a person is not wise or they are virtuous. However, the categorical form is generally the simplest.
If, then, as substitutes for the corresponding conditionals, categoricals are formally adequate, though sometimes inelegant, it may be urged that Logic has nothing to do with elegance; or that, at any rate, the chief elegance of science is economy, and that therefore, for scientific purposes, whatever we may write further about conditionals must be an ugly excrescence. The scientific purpose of Logic is to assign the conditions of proof. Can we, then, in the conditional form prove anything that cannot be proved in the categorical? Or does a conditional require to be itself proved by any method not applicable to the Categorical? If not, why go on with the discussion of Conditionals? For all laws of Nature, however stated, are essentially categorical. 'If a straight line falls on another straight line, the adjacent angles are together equal to two right angles'; 'If a body is unsupported, it falls'; 'If population increases, rents tend to rise': here 'if' means 'whenever' or 'all cases in which'; for to raise a doubt whether a straight line is ever conceived to fall upon another, whether bodies are ever unsupported, or population ever increases, is a superfluity of scepticism; and plainly the hypothetical form has nothing to do with the proof of such propositions, nor with inference from them.
If, then, as alternatives to the corresponding conditionals, categoricals are formally adequate, though sometimes awkward, one might say that Logic isn't concerned with elegance; or that, at least, the main elegance of science is simplicity, and therefore, for scientific purposes, anything further we write about conditionals must be an unnecessary addition. The scientific goal of Logic is to define the conditions for proof. So, can we, in conditional form, prove anything that cannot be proved in categorical form? Or does a conditional need to be proved by any method not applicable to the Categorical? If not, why continue discussing Conditionals? Because all laws of Nature, however expressed, are fundamentally categorical. 'If a straight line intersects another straight line, the adjacent angles sum up to two right angles'; 'If a body is unsupported, it falls'; 'If the population grows, rents tend to increase': here 'if' means 'whenever' or 'in all cases where'; questioning whether a straight line is ever thought to intersect another, whether bodies are ever unsupported, or whether the population ever increases is excessive skepticism; and clearly, the hypothetical form has nothing to do with proving such statements, nor with drawing inferences from them.
Still, the disjunctive form is necessary in setting out the [Pg 62]relation of contradictory terms, and in stating a Division (chap. xxi.), whether formal (as A is B or not-B) or material (as Cats are white, or black, or tortoiseshell, or tabby). And in some cases the hypothetical form is useful. One of these occurs where it is important to draw attention to the condition, as something doubtful or especially requiring examination. If there is a resisting medium in space, the earth will fall into the sun; If the Corn Laws are to be re-enacted, we had better sell railways and buy land: here the hypothetical form draws attention to the questions whether there is a resisting medium in space, whether the Corn Laws are likely to be re-enacted; but as to methods of inference and proof, the hypothetical form has nothing to do with them. The propositions predicate causation: A resisting medium in space is a condition of the earth's falling into the sun; A Corn Law is a condition of the rise of rents, and of the fall of railway profits.
Still, the disjunctive form is important for outlining the [Pg 62]relationship of contradictory terms and for making a Division (chap. xxi.), whether formal (A is B or not-B) or material (like Cats are white, or black, or tortoiseshell, or tabby). In some cases, the hypothetical form is useful. One example is when it’s crucial to highlight the condition as something uncertain or particularly needing examination. If there is a resisting medium in space, the earth will fall into the sun; If the Corn Laws are to be re-enacted, we better sell railways and buy land: here, the hypothetical form draws attention to the questions of whether there is a resisting medium in space and whether the Corn Laws might be re-enacted; however, regarding methods of inference and proof, the hypothetical form doesn't come into play. The propositions indicate causation: A resisting medium in space is a condition for the earth falling into the sun; A Corn Law is a condition for the rise in rents and the fall in railway profits.
A second case in which the hypothetical is a specially appropriate form of statement occurs where a proposition relates to a particular matter and to future time, as If there be a storm to-morrow, we shall miss our picnic. Such cases are of very slight logical interest. It is as exercises in formal thinking that hypotheticals are of most value; inasmuch as many people find them more difficult than categoricals to manipulate.
A second situation where using a hypothetical is particularly fitting happens when a statement refers to a specific issue and a future time, like If there's a storm tomorrow, we will miss our picnic. These situations are not very interesting from a logical standpoint. Hypotheticals are most valuable as exercises in formal thinking, since many people find them harder to work with than categoricals.
In discussing Conditional Propositions, the conditional sentence of a Hypothetical, or the first alternative of a Disjunctive, is called the Antecedent; the indicative sentence of a Hypothetical, or the second alternative of a Disjunctive, is called the Consequent.
In discussing Conditional Propositions, the conditional part of a Hypothetical, or the first option of a Disjunctive, is called the Antecedent; the indicative part of a Hypothetical, or the second option of a Disjunctive, is called the Consequent.
Hypotheticals, like Categoricals, have been classed according to Quantity and Quality. Premising that the quantity of a Hypothetical depends on the quantity of its Antecedent (which determines its limitation), whilst its quality depends on the quality of its consequent (which makes the predication), we may exhibit four forms:
Hypotheticals, like Categoricals, have been classified based on Quantity and Quality. Since the quantity of a Hypothetical depends on the quantity of its Antecedent (which sets its limit), while its quality relies on the quality of its Consequent (which establishes the statement), we can present four forms:
I. Sometimes when A is B, C is D;
E. If A equals B, then C does not equal D;
O. Sometimes when A is B, C is not D.
But I. and O. are rarely used.
But I. and O. are hardly ever used.
As for Disjunctives, it is easy to distinguish the two quantities thus:
As for Disjunctives, it’s simple to differentiate the two amounts like this:
I. Sometimes A is B, or C is D.
But I. is rarely used. The distinction of quality, however, cannot be made: there are no true negative forms; for if we write—
But I. is rarely used. The distinction of quality, however, cannot be made: there are no true negative forms; for if we write—
there is here no alternative predication, but only an Exponible equivalent to No A is B, and No C is D. And if we write—
there is here no alternative predication, but only an Exponible equivalent to No A is B, and No C is D. And if we write—
this is affirmative as to the alternation, and is for all methods of treatment equivalent to A.
this confirms the change, and is equivalent to A for all treatment methods.
Logicians are divided in opinion as to the interpretation of the conjunction 'either, or'; some holding that it means 'not both,' others that it means 'it may be both.' Grammatical usage, upon which the question is sometimes argued, does not seem to be established in favour of either view. If we say A man so precise in his walk and conversation is either a saint or a consummate hypocrite; or, again, One who is happy in a solitary life is either more or less than man; we cannot in such cases mean that the subject may be both. On the other hand, if it be said that the author of 'A Tale of a Tub' is either a misanthrope or a dyspeptic, the alternatives are not incompatible. Or, again, given that X. is a lunatic, or a lover, or a poet, the three predicates have much congruity.
Logicians have different opinions on how to interpret the conjunction 'either, or'; some believe it means 'not both,' while others think it means 'it could be both.' The grammatical usage, which is sometimes cited in the debate, doesn’t seem to clearly support either perspective. If we say A man who is so careful in his walk and conversation is either a saint or a complete hypocrite; or, Someone who is happy living alone is either more or less than human; we clearly can’t mean that the subject could be both. On the flip side, if someone says the author of 'A Tale of a Tub' is either a misanthrope or a dyspeptic, the two options aren’t mutually exclusive. Similarly, if we say X. is a lunatic, a lover, or a poet, the three descriptions have a lot in common.
It has been urged that in Logic, language should be made as exact and definite as possible, and that this requires [Pg 64]the exclusive interpretation 'not both.' But it seems a better argument, that Logic (1) should be able to express all meanings, and (2), as the science of evidence, must not assume more than is given; to be on the safe side, it must in doubtful cases assume the least, just as it generally assumes a preindesignate term to be of particular quantity; and, therefore 'either, or' means 'one, or the other, or both.'
It has been argued that in Logic, language should be as precise and clear as possible, which requires the exclusive interpretation of 'not both.' However, a stronger argument is that Logic (1) should be able to express all meanings, and (2), as the science of evidence, should not assume more than what is given. To be cautious, it should assume the least in uncertain cases, just as it typically assumes an unspecified term to be of a particular quantity; therefore, 'either, or' means 'one, the other, or both.'
However, when both the alternative propositions have the same subject, as Either A is B, or A is C, if the two predicates are contrary or contradictory terms (as 'saint' and 'hypocrite,' or 'saint' and 'not-saint'), they cannot in their nature be predicable in the same way of the same subject; and, therefore, in such a case 'either, or' means one or the other, but not both in the same relation. Hence it seems necessary to admit that the conjunction 'either, or' may sometimes require one interpretation, sometimes the other; and the rule is that it implies the further possibility 'or both,' except when both alternatives have the same subject whilst the predicates are contrary or contradictory terms.
However, when both alternative propositions share the same subject, like Either A is B, or A is C, if the two predicates are opposite or contradictory terms (like 'saint' and 'hypocrite,' or 'saint' and 'not-saint'), they inherently cannot apply to the same subject in the same way; therefore, in this case, 'either, or' means one or the other, but not both in the same context. So, it's necessary to acknowledge that the conjunction 'either, or' may sometimes need one interpretation and sometimes the other; the rule is that it suggests the additional possibility 'or both,' unless both alternatives have the same subject while the predicates are opposite or contradictory terms.
If, then, the disjunctive A is either B or C (B and C being contraries) implies that both alternatives cannot be true, it can only be adequately rendered in hypotheticals by the two forms—(1) If A is B, it is not C, and (2)If A is not B, it is C. But if the disjunctive A is either B or C (B and C not being contraries) implies that both may be true, it will be adequately translated into a hypothetical by the single form, If A is not B, it is C. We cannot translate it into—If A is B, it is not C, for, by our supposition, if 'A is B' is true, it does not follow that 'A is C' must be false.
If the statement A is either B or C (B and C being opposites) means that both options can’t be true at the same time, it can be accurately expressed in hypotheticals with two forms—(1) If A is B, then it’s not C, and (2) If A is not B, then it’s C. However, if the statement A is either B or C (B and C not being opposites) implies that both can be true, it can be correctly translated into a hypothetical using just one form, If A is not B, then it’s C. We cannot express it as If A is B, then it’s not C, because according to our assumption, if 'A is B' is true, it doesn’t mean that 'A is C' has to be false.
Logicians are also divided in opinion as to the function of the hypothetical form. Some think it expresses doubt; for the consequent depends on the antecedent, and the antecedent, introduced by 'if,' may or may not be realised, [Pg 65]as in If the sky is clear, the night is cold: whether the sky is, or is not, clear being supposed to be uncertain. And we have seen that some hypothetical propositions seem designed to draw attention to such uncertainty, as—If there is a resisting medium in space, etc. But other Logicians lay stress upon the connection of the clauses as the important matter: the statement is, they say, that the consequent may be inferred from the antecedent. Some even declare that it is given as a necessary inference; and on this ground Sigwart rejects particular hypotheticals, such as Sometimes when A is B, C is D; for if it happens only sometimes the connexion cannot be necessary. Indeed, it cannot even be probably inferred without further grounds. But this is also true whenever the antecedent and consequent are concerned with different matter. For example, If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. How do you know that? Because Every simple substance is indestructible. Without this further ground there can be no inference. The fact is that conditional forms often cover assertions that are not true complex propositions but a sort of euthymemes (chap. xi. § 2), arguments abbreviated and rhetorically disguised. Thus: If patience is a virtue there are painful virtues—an example from Dr. Keynes. Expanding this we have—
Logicians also disagree about the role of hypothetical statements. Some believe they express doubt because the outcome depends on the premise, and the premise, introduced by 'if,' might not happen, [Pg 65] as in If the sky is clear, the night is cold: whether the sky is clear or not is assumed to be uncertain. We've seen that some hypothetical propositions seem meant to highlight this uncertainty, like If there is a resisting medium in space, etc. However, other logicians emphasize the connection between the clauses as the key point: they argue that the outcome can be derived from the premise. Some even claim that it is presented as a necessary conclusion; because of this, Sigwart dismisses certain hypotheticals, such as Sometimes when A is B, C is D, since if it only happens sometimes, the connection can't be essential. In fact, it can't even be reasonably inferred without additional support. This holds true whenever the premise and conclusion relate to different subjects. For instance, If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. How do we know that? Because Every simple substance is indestructible. Without this additional basis, there can be no inference. The reality is that conditional forms often mask statements that are not genuinely complex propositions, but rather a type of euthymeme (chap. xi. § 2), arguments that are shortened and rhetorically hidden. For example: If patience is a virtue, there are painful virtues—an example from Dr. Keynes. Expanding this, we have—
Patience is key:
Some virtues are painful.
And then we see the equivocation of the inference; for though patience be painful to learn, it is not painful as a virtue to the patient man.
And then we notice the ambiguity of the conclusion; for while patience is hard to learn, it is not hard as a virtue for the patient person.
The hypothetical, 'If Plato was not mistaken poets are dangerous citizens,' may be considered as an argument against the laureateship, and may be expanded (informally) thus: 'All Plato's opinions deserve respect; one of them was that poets are bad citizens; therefore it behoves us to [Pg 66]be chary of encouraging poetry.' Or take this disjunctive, 'Either Bacon wrote the works ascribed to Shakespeare, or there were two men of the highest genius in the same age and country.' This means that it is not likely there should be two such men, that we are sure of Bacon, and therefore ought to give him all the glory. Now, if it is the part of Logic 'to make explicit in language all that is implicit in thought,' or to put arguments into the form in which they can best be examined, such propositions as the above ought to be analysed in the way suggested, and confirmed or refuted according to their real intention.
The idea, 'If Plato wasn't wrong, poets are dangerous citizens,' can be seen as an argument against giving poets accolades, and can be informally expanded like this: 'All of Plato's views deserve respect; one of them was that poets are bad citizens; therefore, we should be careful about promoting poetry.' Or consider this alternative: 'Either Bacon wrote the works attributed to Shakespeare, or there were two highly gifted individuals in the same time and place.' This suggests that it’s unlikely there were two such figures, we are certain about Bacon, and therefore he should receive all the credit. Now, if Logic’s role is 'to clearly express in language everything that is implied in thought,' or to present arguments in a way that allows for thorough examination, then propositions like these should be analyzed as suggested and confirmed or challenged based on their true meaning.
We may conclude that no single function can be assigned to all hypothetical propositions: each must be treated according to its own meaning in its own context.
We can conclude that no single function can be assigned to all hypothetical statements: each one must be understood based on its specific meaning in its own context.
§ 5. As to Modality, propositions are divided into Pure and Modal. A Modal proposition is one in which the predicate is affirmed or denied, not simply but cum modo, with a qualification. And some Logicians have considered any adverb occurring in the predicate, or any sign of past or future tense, enough to constitute a modal: as 'Petroleum is dangerously inflammable'; 'English will be the universal language.' But far the most important kind of modality, and the only one we need consider, is that which is signified by some qualification of the predicate as to the degree of certainty with which it is affirmed or denied. Thus, 'The bite of the cobra is probably mortal,' is called a Contingent or Problematic Modal: 'Water is certainly composed of oxygen and hydrogen' is an Assertory or Certain Modal: 'Two straight lines cannot enclose a space' is a Necessary or Apodeictic Modal (the opposite being inconceivable). Propositions not thus qualified are called Pure.
§ 5. Regarding Modality, statements are classified into Pure and Modal. A Modal statement is one where the predicate is affirmed or denied not just simply but with a qualification. Some Logicians have viewed any adverb in the predicate, or any indication of past or future tense, as enough to make it a modal: for example, 'Petroleum is dangerously inflammable'; 'English will be the universal language.' However, the most significant type of modality, and the only one we need to focus on, involves some qualification of the predicate related to the degree of certainty with which it is affirmed or denied. For instance, 'The bite of the cobra is probably mortal' is classified as a Contingent or Problematic Modal; 'Water is certainly composed of oxygen and hydrogen' is an Assertory or Certain Modal; and 'Two straight lines cannot enclose a space' is a Necessary or Apodeictic Modal (the opposite is unimaginable). Statements that are not qualified in this way are referred to as Pure.
Modal propositions have had a long and eventful history, but they have not been found tractable by the resources of ordinary Logic, and are now generally neglected by the authors of text-books. No doubt such propositions are the commonest in ordinary discourse, and in some rough way [Pg 67]we combine them and draw inferences from them. It is understood that a combination of assertory or of apodeictic premises may warrant an assertory or an apodeictic conclusion; but that if we combine either of these with a problematic premise our conclusion becomes problematic; whilst the combination of two problematic premises gives a conclusion less certain than either. But if we ask 'How much less certain?' there is no answer. That the modality of a conclusion follows the less certain of the premises combined, is inadequate for scientific guidance; so that, as Deductive Logic can get no farther than this, it has abandoned the discussion of Modals. To endeavour to determine the degree of certainty attaching to a problematic judgment is not, however, beyond the reach of Induction, by analysing circumstantial evidence, or by collecting statistics with regard to it. Thus, instead of 'The cobra's bite is probably fatal,' we might find that it is fatal 80 times in 100. Then, if we know that of those who go to India 3 in 1000 are bitten, we can calculate what the chances are that any one going to India will die of a cobra's bite (chap. xx.).
Modal propositions have a long and complex history, but they haven't been effectively addressed by traditional Logic and are now mostly overlooked in textbooks. Clearly, these propositions are common in everyday conversation, and we manage to combine them and draw inferences in some basic way. It's understood that combining assertive or definitive premises can lead to an assertive or definitive conclusion; however, if we mix either of these with a questionable premise, our conclusion becomes questionable too. Furthermore, the combination of two questionable premises results in a conclusion that's less certain than either of them. But if we ask 'How much less certain?' there’s no answer. The idea that the modality of a conclusion reflects the less certain premise involved is insufficient for scientific guidance, which is why Deductive Logic doesn't go further than this and has dropped the discussion on Modals. However, determining the degree of certainty linked to a questionable judgment isn't beyond the scope of Induction, through analyzing circumstantial evidence or gathering statistics on it. So, instead of saying 'The cobra's bite is probably fatal,' we might find it is fatal 80 out of 100 times. Then, if we know that 3 out of 1000 travelers to India are bitten, we can figure out the chances that someone going to India will die from a cobra bite (chap. xx.).
§ 6. Verbal and Real Propositions.—Another important division of propositions turns upon the relation of the predicate to the subject in respect of their connotations. We saw, when discussing Relative Terms, that the connotation of one term often implies that of another; sometimes reciprocally, like 'master' and 'slave'; or by inclusion, like species and genus; or by exclusion, like contraries and contradictories. When terms so related appear as subject and predicate of the same proposition, the result is often tautology—e.g., The master has authority over his slave; A horse is an animal; Red is not blue; British is not foreign. Whoever knows the meaning of 'master,' 'horse,' 'red,' 'British,' learns nothing from these propositions. Hence they are called Verbal propositions, as only expounding the sense of words, or as if they were propositions only by satisfying the forms of language, not by [Pg 68]fulfilling the function of propositions in conveying a knowledge of facts. They are also called 'Analytic' and 'Explicative,' when they separate and disengage the elements of the connotation of the subject. Doubtless, such propositions may be useful to one who does not know the language; and Definitions, which are verbal propositions whose predicates analyse the whole connotations of their subjects, are indispensable instruments of science (see chap. xxii.).
§ 6. Verbal and Real Propositions.—Another key way to categorize propositions is by how the predicate relates to the subject in terms of their meanings. We observed in the discussion on Relative Terms that the meaning of one term often includes or suggests the meaning of another; sometimes they imply each other, like 'master' and 'slave'; or one encompasses the other, like species and genus; or they contrast, like opposites and contradictories. When terms that are related in this way are used as the subject and predicate of the same proposition, it often results in tautology—e.g., The master has authority over his slave; A horse is an animal; Red is not blue; British is not foreign. Anyone who understands 'master,' 'horse,' 'red,' and 'British' doesn’t actually learn anything new from these propositions. That’s why they’re called Verbal propositions, since they merely explain the meaning of words, or they seem like propositions only because they fit the grammatical structure of language, not because they actually convey any knowledge of facts. They’re also known as 'Analytic' and 'Explicative' when they break down and clarify the components of the subject's meaning. Certainly, such propositions can be helpful to someone unfamiliar with the language; and Definitions, which are verbal propositions that dissect the full meanings of their subjects, are essential tools of science (see chap. xxii.).
Of course, hypothetical propositions may also be verbal, as If the soul be material it is extended; for 'extension' is connoted by 'matter'; and, therefore, the corresponding disjunctive is verbal—Either the soul is not material, or it is extended. But a true divisional disjunctive can never be verbal (chap. xxi. § 4, rule 1).
Of course, hypothetical statements can also be verbal, like If the soul is material, it takes up space; because 'taking up space' is implied by 'matter'; and so, the related disjunctive is also verbal—Either the soul isn't material, or it takes up space. However, a true divisional disjunctive can never be verbal (chap. xxi. § 4, rule 1).
On the other hand, when there is no such direct relation between subject and predicate that their connotations imply one another, but the predicate connotes something that cannot be learnt from the connotation of the subject, there is no longer tautology, but an enlargement of meaning—e.g., Masters are degraded by their slaves; The horse is the noblest animal; Red is the favourite colour of the British army; If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. Such propositions are called Real, Synthetic, or Ampliative, because they are propositions for which a mere understanding of their subjects would be no substitute, since the predicate adds a meaning of its own concerning matter of fact.
On the other hand, when there isn't a direct relationship between the subject and predicate that makes them imply each other, but the predicate refers to something that isn't indicated by the subject, it's no longer a tautology; instead, it expands the meaning—e.g., Masters are degraded by their slaves; The horse is the noblest animal; Red is the favorite color of the British army; If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. These types of statements are called Real, Synthetic, or Ampliative because understanding the subjects alone isn't enough, as the predicate adds its own meaning regarding facts.
To any one who understands the language, a verbal proposition can never be an inference or conclusion from evidence; nor can a verbal proposition ever furnish grounds for an inference, except as to the meaning of words. The subject of real and verbal propositions will inevitably recur in the chapters on Definition; but tautologies are such common blemishes in composition, and such frequent pitfalls in argument, that attention cannot be drawn to them too early or too often.
To anyone who understands the language, a verbal statement can never be an inference or conclusion drawn from evidence; nor can a verbal statement ever provide a basis for an inference, other than regarding the meanings of words. The topic of real and verbal propositions will inevitably come up in the chapters on Definition; however, tautologies are common flaws in writing and frequent traps in arguments, so it’s important to highlight them as early and as often as possible.
CHAPTER VI
CONDITIONS OF IMMEDIATE INFERENCE
§ 1. The word Inference is used in two different senses, which are often confused but should be carefully distinguished. In the first sense, it means a process of thought or reasoning by which the mind passes from facts or statements presented, to some opinion or expectation. The data may be very vague and slight, prompting no more than a guess or surmise; as when we look up at the sky and form some expectation about the weather, or from the trick of a man's face entertain some prejudice as to his character. Or the data may be important and strongly significant, like the footprint that frightened Crusoe into thinking of cannibals, or as when news of war makes the city expect that Consols will fall. These are examples of the act of inferring, or of inference as a process; and with inference in this sense Logic has nothing to do; it belongs to Psychology to explain how it is that our minds pass from one perception or thought to another thought, and how we come to conjecture, conclude and believe (cf. chap. i. § 6).
§ 1. The word Inference is used in two different ways, which are often confused but should be clearly distinguished. In the first way, it refers to a process of thought or reasoning where the mind moves from presented facts or statements to some opinion or expectation. The data may be very vague and minimal, leading to no more than a guess or assumption; for example, when we look up at the sky and form an expectation about the weather, or when we look at a person’s facial expression and make a judgment about their character. Alternatively, the data may be significant and strongly suggestive, such as the footprint that made Crusoe worry about cannibals, or when news of war leads the city to expect a drop in Consols. These are examples of the act of inferring, or inference as a process; and inference in this sense is not the concern of Logic; it is Psychology that explains how our minds transition from one perception or thought to another and how we arrive at conjectures, conclusions, and beliefs (cf. chap. i. § 6).
In the second sense, 'inference' means not this process of guessing or opining, but the result of it; the surmise, opinion, or belief when formed; in a word, the conclusion: and it is in this sense that Inference is treated of in Logic. The subject-matter of Logic is an inference, judgment or conclusion concerning facts, embodied in a proposition, which is to be examined in relation to the evidence that may be adduced for it, in order to determine whether, or how [Pg 70]far, the evidence amounts to proof. Logic is the science of Reasoning in the sense in which 'reasoning' means giving reasons, for it shows what sort of reasons are good. Whilst Psychology explains how the mind goes forward from data to conclusions, Logic takes a conclusion and goes back to the data, inquiring whether those data, together with any other evidence (facts or principles) that can be collected, are of a nature to warrant the conclusion. If we think that the night will be stormy, that John Doe is of an amiable disposition, that water expands in freezing, or that one means to national prosperity is popular education, and wish to know whether we have evidence sufficient to justify us in holding these opinions, Logic can tell us what form the evidence should assume in order to be conclusive. What form the evidence should assume: Logic cannot tell us what kinds of fact are proper evidence in any of these cases; that is a question for the man of special experience in life, or in science, or in business. But whatever facts constitute the evidence, they must, in order to prove the point, admit of being stated in conformity with certain principles or conditions; and of these principles or conditions Logic is the science. It deals, then, not with the subjective process of inferring, but with the objective grounds that justify or discredit the inference.
In the second sense, 'inference' refers not to the process of guessing or forming opinions but to the outcome of that process; the assumption, opinion, or belief when it is established; in a word, the conclusion. This is how Inference is discussed in Logic. The focus of Logic is an inference, judgment, or conclusion about facts, presented in a proposition, which is examined in relation to the evidence that can be provided for it, to determine whether, or how far, the evidence amounts to proof. Logic is the science of Reasoning, in the sense that 'reasoning' means giving reasons, as it shows what types of reasons are valid. While Psychology explains how the mind processes data to reach conclusions, Logic takes a conclusion and works backwards to the data, questioning whether those data, along with any additional evidence (facts or principles) that can be gathered, are sufficient to support the conclusion. If we believe that the night will be stormy, that John Doe is friendly, that water expands when it freezes, or that popular education is a means to national prosperity, and we want to determine if we have enough evidence to justify these beliefs, Logic can indicate what form the evidence should take to be conclusive. What form the evidence should take: Logic cannot specify which types of fact are proper evidence in any of these cases; that is a question for someone with specific experience in life, science, or business. However, whatever facts make up the evidence must be able to be presented in accordance with certain principles or conditions; and Logic is the science that deals with those principles or conditions. It focuses not on the subjective process of inferring, but on the objective basis that validates or invalidates the inference.
§ 2. Inferences, in the Logical sense, are divided into two great classes, the Immediate and the Mediate, according to the character of the evidence offered in proof of them. Strictly, to speak of inferences, in the sense of conclusions, as immediate or mediate, is an abuse of language, derived from times before the distinction between inference as process and inference as result was generally felt. No doubt we ought rather to speak of Immediate and Mediate Evidence; but it is of little use to attempt to alter the traditional expressions of the science.
§ 2. In logic, inferences are categorized into two main types: Immediate and Mediate, based on the type of evidence provided to support them. Technically, referring to inferences, in the context of conclusions, as immediate or mediate is a misuse of language that comes from earlier times when the difference between inference as a process and inference as a result wasn't clearly recognized. We should probably refer to them as Immediate and Mediate Evidence instead; however, it’s not very practical to try to change the established terminology in the field.
An Immediate Inference, then, is one that depends for its proof upon only one other proposition, which has the same, [Pg 71]or more extensive, terms (or matter). Thus that one means to national prosperity is popular education is an immediate inference, if the evidence for it is no more than the admission that popular education is a means to national prosperity: Similarly, it is an immediate inference that Some authors are vain, if it be granted that All authors are vain.
An Immediate Inference is one that proves itself based on just one other statement, which has the same or broader terms. For example, the statement that one means to national prosperity is popular education is an immediate inference if the only support for it is the acknowledgment that popular education is a means to national prosperity. Similarly, it is an immediate inference that Some authors are vain if it is accepted that All authors are vain.
An Immediate Inference may seem to be little else than a verbal transformation; some Logicians dispute its claims to be called an inference at all, on the ground that it is identical with the pretended evidence. If we attend to the meaning, say they, an immediate inference does not really express any new judgment; the fact expressed by it is either the same as its evidence, or is even less significant. If from No men are gods we prove that No gods are men, this is nugatory; if we prove from it that Some men are not gods, this is to emasculate the sense, to waste valuable information, to lose the commanding sweep of our universal proposition.
An Immediate Inference might seem like just a change in wording; some Logicians argue that it shouldn't even be called an inference because it's the same as the supposed evidence. They say that if we look at the meaning, an immediate inference doesn’t really present any new judgment; the fact it presents is either the same as its evidence or even less meaningful. If we conclude that No gods are men from No men are gods, it's pointless; if we conclude that Some men are not gods, it trivializes the meaning, wastes important information, and misses the broader impact of our universal statement.
Still, in Logic, it is often found that an immediate inference expresses our knowledge in a more convenient form than that of the evidentiary proposition, as will appear in the chapter on Syllogisms and elsewhere. And by transforming an universal into a particular proposition, as No men are gods, therefore, Some men are not gods,—we get a statement which, though weaker, is far more easily proved; since a single instance suffices. Moreover, by drawing all possible immediate inferences from a given proposition, we see it in all its aspects, and learn all that is implied in it.
Still, in Logic, it’s often the case that an immediate inference presents our knowledge in a more convenient way than that of the evidentiary proposition, as will be shown in the chapter on Syllogisms and elsewhere. By transforming a universal into a particular proposition, like No men are gods, therefore, Some men are not gods, we create a statement that, although weaker, is much easier to prove; since just one example is enough. Additionally, by drawing all possible immediate inferences from a given proposition, we can see it from all perspectives and understand everything that it implies.
A Mediate Inference, on the other hand, depends for its evidence upon a plurality of other propositions (two or more) which are connected together on logical principles. If we argue—
A Mediate Inference, on the other hand, relies on evidence from multiple other propositions (two or more) that are connected logically. If we argue—
[Pg 72]this is a Mediate Inference. The evidence consists of two propositions connected by the term 'man,' which is common to both (a Middle Term), mediating between 'gods' and 'Alexander.' Mediate Inferences comprise Syllogisms with their developments, and Inductions; and to discuss them further at present would be to anticipate future chapters. We must now deal with the principles or conditions on which Immediate Inferences are valid: commonly called the "Laws of Thought."
[Pg 72]This is a Mediate Inference. The evidence includes two statements linked by the term 'man,' which is shared by both (a Middle Term), bridging 'gods' and 'Alexander.' Mediate Inferences include Syllogisms along with their expansions, and Inductions; discussing them further now would mean getting ahead of upcoming chapters. We need to focus on the principles or conditions that make Immediate Inferences valid: commonly referred to as the "Laws of Thought."
§ 3. The Laws of Thought are conditions of the logical statement and criticism of all sorts of evidence; but as to Immediate Inference, they may be regarded as the only conditions it need satisfy. They are often expressed thus: (1) The principle of Identity—'Whatever is, is'; (2) The principle of Contradiction—'It is impossible for the same thing to be and not be'; (3) The principle of Excluded Middle—'Anything must either be or not be.' These principles are manifestly not 'laws' of thought in the sense in which 'law' is used in Psychology; they do not profess to describe the actual mental processes that take place in judgment or reasoning, as the 'laws of association of ideas' account for memory and recollection. They are not natural laws of thought; but, in relation to thought, can only be regarded as laws when stated as precepts, the observance of which (consciously or not) is necessary to clear and consistent thinking: e.g., Never assume that the same thing can both be and not be.
§ 3. The Laws of Thought are the conditions that apply to logical statements and the evaluation of all types of evidence; in the case of Immediate Inference, they can be seen as the only requirements it needs to meet. They are often stated as follows: (1) The principle of Identity—'Whatever exists, exists'; (2) The principle of Contradiction—'It’s impossible for something to both exist and not exist'; (3) The principle of Excluded Middle—'Something must either exist or not exist.' These principles clearly aren’t 'laws' of thought in the sense that 'law' is understood in Psychology; they don't aim to describe the actual mental processes involved in judgment or reasoning, unlike the 'laws of association of ideas' which explain memory and recall. They aren’t natural laws of thought; instead, in the context of thought, they can only be viewed as laws when articulated as guidelines, following which (consciously or unconsciously) is essential for clear and consistent thinking: e.g., Never assume that the same thing can both exist and not exist.
However, treating Logic as the science of thought only as embodied in propositions, in respect of which evidence is to be adduced, or which are to be used as evidence of other propositions, the above laws or principles must be restated as the conditions of consistent argument in such terms as to be directly applicable to propositions. It was shown in the chapter on the connotation of terms, that terms are assumed by Logicians to be capable of definite meaning, and of being used univocally in the same context; [Pg 73]if, or in so far as, this is not the case, we cannot understand one another's reasons nor even pursue in solitary meditation any coherent train of argument. We saw, too, that the meanings of terms were related to one another: some being full correlatives; others partially inclusive one of another, as species of genus; others mutually incompatible, as contraries; or alternatively predicable, as contradictories. We now assume that propositions are capable of definite meaning according to the meaning of their component terms and of the relation between them; that the meaning, the fact asserted or denied, is what we are really concerned to prove or disprove; that a mere change in the words that constitute our terms, or of construction, does not affect the truth of a proposition as long as the meaning is not altered, or (rather) as long as no fresh meaning is introduced; and that if the meaning of any proposition is true, any other proposition that denies it is false. This postulate is plainly necessary to consistency of statement and discourse; and consistency is necessary, if our thought or speech is to correspond with the unity and coherence of Nature and experience; and the Laws of Thought or Conditions of Immediate Inference are an analysis of this postulate.
However, treating Logic as the science of thought only as expressed in propositions, which are supposed to provide evidence or serve as evidence for other propositions, the aforementioned laws or principles must be rephrased as the conditions for consistent argument in a way that can be directly applied to propositions. It was demonstrated in the chapter on the connotation of terms that Logicians assume terms have a definite meaning and can be used univocally in the same context; [Pg 73]if this is not true, we cannot understand each other's reasoning or even follow a coherent line of argument in solitary reflection. We also saw that the meanings of terms are related to each other: some are fully correlated; others are partially inclusive, like species under a genus; and others are mutually exclusive, like contraries; or alternatively predicable as contradictories. We now assume that propositions have a definite meaning based on the meanings of their components and the relationships between them; that the meaning, the fact being asserted or denied, is what we are really trying to prove or disprove; that a mere change in the wording of our terms or their structure does not affect the truth of a proposition as long as the meaning remains the same, or rather, as long as no new meaning is introduced; and that if the meaning of any proposition is true, any other proposition that denies it is false. This assumption is clearly necessary for consistency in statements and discussions; and consistency is essential if our thoughts or speech are to align with the unity and coherence of Nature and experience; the Laws of Thought or Conditions of Immediate Inference are an analysis of this assumption.
§ 4. The principle of Identity is usually written symbolically thus: A is A; not-A is not-A. It assumes that there is something that may be represented by a term; and it requires that, in any discussion, every relevant term, once used in a definite sense, shall keep that meaning throughout. Socrates in his father's workshop, at the battle of Delium, and in prison, is assumed to be the same man denotable by the same name; and similarly, 'elephant,' or 'justice,' or 'fairy,' in the same context, is to be understood of the same thing under the same suppositio.
§ 4. The principle of Identity is usually expressed symbolically like this: A is A; not-A is not-A. It assumes that there is something that can be represented by a term; and it requires that, in any discussion, every relevant term, once used in a specific sense, should keep that meaning throughout. Socrates, whether he is in his father's workshop, at the battle of Delium, or in prison, is assumed to be the same person referred to by the same name; similarly, 'elephant,' 'justice,' or 'fairy,' in the same context, should be understood as the same thing under the same suppositio.
But, further, it is assumed that of a given term another term may be predicated again and again in the same sense under the same conditions; that is, we may speak of the identity of meaning in a proposition as well as in a term.[Pg 74] To symbolise this we ought to alter the usual formula for Identity and write it thus: If B is A, B is A; if B is not-A, B is not-A. If Socrates is wise, he is wise; if fairies frequent the moonlight, they do; if Justice is not of this world, it is not. Whatever affirmation or denial we make concerning any subject, we are bound to adhere to it for the purposes of the current argument or investigation. Of course, if our assertion turns out to be false, we must not adhere to it; but then we must repudiate all that we formerly deduced from it.
But, additionally, it’s assumed that for any given term, another term can be applied repeatedly in the same sense under the same conditions; in other words, we can discuss the consistency of meaning in a statement as well as in a term.[Pg 74] To represent this, we should change the usual formula for Identity and write it like this: If B is A, then B is A; if B is not-A, then B is not-A. If Socrates is wise, he truly is wise; if fairies visit the moonlight, they indeed do; if Justice isn't of this world, then it isn't. No matter what affirmation or denial we make about any subject, we must stick to it for the sake of the current argument or investigation. Of course, if our claim turns out to be false, we should not stick to it; but then we need to reject everything we previously inferred from it.
Again, whatever is true or false in one form of words is true or false in any other: this is undeniable, for the important thing is identity of meaning; but in Formal Logic it is not very convenient. If Socrates is wise, is it an identity to say 'Therefore the master of Plato is wise'; or, further that he 'takes enlightened views of life'? If Every man is fallible, is it an identical proposition that Every man is liable to error? It seems pedantic to demand a separate proposition that Fallible is liable to error. But, on the other hand, the insidious substitution of one term for another speciously identical, is a chief occasion of fallacy. How if we go on to argue: therefore, Every man is apt to blunder, prone to confusion of thought, inured to self-contradiction? Practically, the substitution of identities must be left to candour and good-sense; and may they increase among us. Formal Logic is, no doubt, safest with symbols; should, perhaps, content itself with A and B; or, at least, hardly venture beyond Y and Z.
Again, whatever is true or false in one way of expressing it is true or false in any other: this is undeniable because the key point is the identity of meaning; however, this can be quite inconvenient in Formal Logic. If Socrates is wise, is it the same to say 'Therefore, Plato’s teacher is wise'; or even that he 'has insightful views on life'? If Every man is fallible, is it the same as saying Every man is prone to make mistakes? It seems overly meticulous to insist on a separate statement that Fallible means prone to make mistakes. Yet, on the other hand, the sneaky replacement of one term for another that seems identical is a major cause of error. What if we continue to argue: therefore, Every man is likely to make errors, inclined to confusion of thought, accustomed to contradictions? In practice, the replacement of identities must rely on honesty and common sense; and may these qualities grow among us. Formal Logic is certainly safest with symbols; it should perhaps be satisfied with A and B; or, at least, hardly go beyond Y and Z.
§ 5. The principle of Contradiction is usually written symbolically, thus: A is not not-A. But, since this formula seems to be adapted to a single term, whereas we want one that is applicable to propositions, it may be better to write it thus: B is not both A and not-A. That is to say: if any term may be affirmed of a subject, the contradictory term may, in the same relation, be denied of it. A leaf that is green on one side of it may be not-green on the other; but it [Pg 75]is not both green and not-green on the same surface, at the same time, and in the same light. If a stick is straight, it is false that it is at the same time not-straight: having granted that two angles are equal, we must deny that they are unequal.
§ 5. The principle of Contradiction is usually expressed like this: A is not not-A. However, since this formula seems better suited for a single term, and we want one that applies to whole propositions, it might be clearer to say: B is not both A and not-A. In other words: if a term can be affirmed about a subject, the opposite term can, in the same context, be denied of it. A leaf that is green on one side can be not-green on the other; but it [Pg 75]cannot be both green and not-green on the same surface, at the same time, and under the same light. If a stick is straight, it cannot also be not-straight at the same time: once we accept that two angles are equal, we must deny that they are unequal.
But is it necessarily false that the stick is 'crooked'; must we deny that either angle is 'greater or less' than the other? How far is it permissible to substitute any other term for the formal contradictory? Clearly, the principle of Contradiction takes for granted the principle of Identity, and is subject to the same difficulties in its practical application. As a matter of fact and common sense, if we affirm any term of a Subject, we are bound to deny of that Subject, in the same relation, not only the contradictory but all synonyms for this, and also all contraries and opposites; which, of course, are included in the contradictory. But who shall determine what these are? Without an authoritative Logical Dictionary to refer to, where all contradictories, synonyms, and contraries may be found on record, Formal Logic will hardly sanction the free play of common sense.
But is it really false to say that the stick is 'crooked'? Do we have to reject the idea that one angle is 'greater or less' than the other? How far can we go in replacing any term for the formal contradiction? Clearly, the principle of Contradiction assumes the principle of Identity, and faces the same challenges when it comes to practical use. In reality and common sense, if we affirm any term about a Subject, we have to deny not just the contradictory of that Subject in the same context, but also all synonyms for it, as well as all opposites and contrary terms, which are also part of the contradiction. But who gets to decide what those are? Without a definitive Logical Dictionary to consult, where we could find all contradictories, synonyms, and contraries listed, Formal Logic will likely struggle to support the straightforward reasoning of common sense.
The principle of Excluded Middle may be written: B is either A or not-A; that is, if any term be denied of a subject, the contradictory term may, in the same relation, be affirmed. Of course, we may deny that a leaf is green on one side without being bound to affirm that it is not-green on the other. But in the same relation a leaf is either green or not-green; at the same time, a stick is either bent or not-bent. If we deny that A is greater than B, we must affirm that it is not-greater than B.
The principle of Excluded Middle can be stated as: B is either A or not-A; meaning, if a property is denied of a subject, the opposite property can, in the same context, be affirmed. Of course, we can say that a leaf is not green on one side without having to say that it is not green on the other side. But in the same context, a leaf is either green or not green; at the same time, a stick is either bent or not bent. If we deny that A is greater than B, we must affirm that it is not greater than B.
Whilst, then, the principle of Contradiction (that 'of contradictory predicates, one being affirmed, the other is denied ') might seem to leave open a third or middle course, the denying of both contradictories, the principle of Excluded Middle derives its name from the excluding of this middle course, by declaring that the one or the other must [Pg 76]be affirmed. Hence the principle of Excluded Middle does not hold good of mere contrary terms. If we deny that a leaf is green, we are not bound to affirm it to be yellow; for it may be red; and then we may deny both contraries, yellow and green. In fact, two contraries do not between them cover the whole predicable area, but contradictories do: the form of their expression is such that (within the suppositio) each includes all that the other excludes; so that the subject (if brought within the suppositio) must fall under the one or the other. It may seem absurd to say that Mont Blanc is either wise or not-wise; but how comes any mind so ill-organised as to introduce Mont Blanc into this strange company? Being there, however, the principle is inexorable: Mont Blanc is not-wise.
While the principle of Contradiction (that when one contradictory predicate is affirmed, the other is denied) might appear to allow for a third or middle option, the principle of Excluded Middle gets its name from ruling out this middle option by stating that one must be affirmed or the other. Therefore, the principle of Excluded Middle does not apply to mere contrary terms. If we deny that a leaf is green, we are not required to say it is yellow; it could be red instead, allowing us to deny both yellow and green. In fact, two contraries do not cover the entire range of possible predicates, but contradictories do: the way they are formulated ensures that (within the suppositio) each one includes everything the other excludes; thus, the subject (if considered within the suppositio) must fall under one or the other. It may seem absurd to say that Mont Blanc is either wise or not-wise, but how can anyone so disorganized in thought bring Mont Blanc into this odd comparison? Yet, since it is there, the principle remains unyielding: Mont Blanc is not-wise.
In fact, the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are inseparable; they are implicit in all distinct experience, and may be regarded as indicating the two aspects of Negation. The principle of Contradiction says: B is not both A and not-A, as if not-A might be nothing at all; this is abstract negation. But the principle of Excluded Middle says: Granting that B is not A, it is still something—namely, not-A; thus bringing us back to the concrete experience of a continuum in which the absence of one thing implies the presence of something else. Symbolically: to deny that B is A is to affirm that B is not A, and this only differs by a hyphen from B is not-A.
In fact, the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are inseparable; they are inherent in all distinct experiences and can be seen as representing the two sides of Negation. The principle of Contradiction states: B is not both A and not-A, as if not-A could be nothing at all; this is abstract negation. However, the principle of Excluded Middle states: Assuming B is not A, it is still something—specifically, not-A; thus, we return to the concrete experience of a continuum where the absence of one thing indicates the presence of something else. Symbolically: to deny that B is A is to affirm that B is not A, which only differs by a hyphen from B is not-A.
These principles, which were necessarily to some extent anticipated in chap. iv. § 7, the next chapter will further illustrate.
These principles, which were somewhat anticipated in chap. iv. § 7, will be further illustrated in the next chapter.
§ 6. But first we must draw attention to a maxim (also already mentioned), which is strictly applicable to Immediate Inferences, though (as we shall see) in other kinds of proof it may be only a formal condition: this is the general caution not to go beyond the evidence. An immediate inference ought to contain nothing that is not contained (or formally implied) in the proposition by which it is proved.[Pg 77] With respect to quantity in denotation, this caution is embodied in the rule 'not to distribute any term that is not given distributed.' Thus, if there is a predication concerning 'Some S,' or 'Some men,' as in the forms I. and O., we cannot infer anything concerning 'All S.' or 'All men'; and, as we have seen, if a term is given us preindesignate, we are generally to take it as of particular quantity. Similarly, in the case of affirmative propositions, we saw that this rule requires us to assume that their predicates are undistributed.
§ 6. But first, we need to highlight a principle (which has been mentioned before) that applies strictly to Immediate Inferences. Although, as we will see, in other types of proofs it may only be a formal requirement: this is the general caution not to go beyond the evidence. An immediate inference should only include what is present (or formally implied) in the proposition that proves it.[Pg 77] Regarding quantity in denotation, this caution is reflected in the rule 'not to distribute any term that is not given as distributed.' Therefore, if there is a statement about 'Some S,' or 'Some men,' as in forms I. and O., we cannot conclude anything about 'All S.' or 'All men'; and, as we have seen, if a term is presented to us predesignated, we generally assume it refers to a particular quantity. Similarly, in the case of affirmative propositions, we see that this rule requires us to assume that their predicates are undistributed.
As to the grounds of this maxim, not to go beyond the evidence, not to distribute a term that is given as undistributed, it is one of the things so plain that to try to justify is only to obscure them. Still, we must here state explicitly what Formal Logic assumes to be contained or implied in the evidence afforded by any proposition, such as 'All S is P.' If we remember that in chap. iv. § 7, it was assumed that every term may have a contradictory; and if we bear in mind the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle, it will appear that such a proposition as 'All S is P' tells us something not only about the relations of 'S' and 'P,' but also of their relations to 'not-S' and 'not-P'; as, for example, that 'S is not not-P,' and that 'not-P is not-S.' It will be shown in the next chapter how Logicians have developed these implications in series of Immediate Inferences.
As for the reasons behind this principle of not going beyond the evidence and not distributing a term that is given as undistributed, it's so straightforward that trying to explain it only makes it more confusing. However, we need to clearly state what Formal Logic assumes is included or implied in the evidence provided by any statement, like 'All S is P.' If we remember that in chap. iv. § 7, it was assumed that every term can have a contradiction, and if we keep in mind the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle, it will become clear that a statement like 'All S is P' conveys information not just about the relationships between 'S' and 'P,' but also about their relationships to 'not-S' and 'not-P'; for instance, that 'S is not not-P,' and that 'not-P is not-S.' The next chapter will show how Logicians have developed these implications into a series of Immediate Inferences.
If it be asked whether it is true that every term, itself significant, has a significant contradictory, and not merely a formal contradictory, generated by force of the word 'not,' it is difficult to give any better answer than was indicated in §§ 3-5, without venturing further into Metaphysics. I shall merely say, therefore, that, granting that some such term as 'Universe' or 'Being' may have no significant contradictory, if it stand for 'whatever can be perceived or thought of'; yet every term that stands for less than 'Universe' or 'Being' has, of course, a contradictory [Pg 78]which denotes the rest of the universe. And since every argument or train of thought is carried on within a special 'universe of discourse,' or under a certain suppositio, we may say that within the given suppositio every term has a contradictory, and that every predication concerning a term implies some predication concerning its contradictory. But the name of the suppositio itself has no contradictory, except with reference to a wider and inclusive suppositio.
If someone asks whether it’s true that every significant term has a meaningful opposite—beyond just a formal opposite created by the word 'not'—it’s hard to provide a better answer than what was mentioned in §§ 3-5, without diving deeper into Metaphysics. So, I’ll just say that while terms like 'Universe' or 'Being' might not have a meaningful opposite if they refer to 'everything that can be perceived or thought of,' every term that represents something less than 'Universe' or 'Being' does have an opposite that refers to the rest of the universe. And since every argument or line of thought occurs within a specific 'universe of discourse,' or under a certain suppositio, we can say that within that given suppositio, every term has an opposite, and that every assertion about a term suggests an assertion about its opposite. However, the name of the suppositio itself doesn't have an opposite unless we consider a broader and more inclusive suppositio.
The difficulty of actual reasoning, not with symbols, but about matters of fact, does not arise from the principles of Logic, but sometimes from the obscurity or complexity of the facts, sometimes from the ambiguity or clumsiness of language, sometimes from the deficiency of our own minds in penetration, tenacity and lucidity. One must do one's best to study the facts, and not be too easily discouraged.
The challenge of genuine reasoning, not through symbols but regarding real situations, doesn’t stem from the principles of Logic. It can sometimes come from the unclear or complicated nature of the facts, other times from the vagueness or awkwardness of language, and sometimes from our own minds lacking depth, persistence, and clarity. We must do our best to understand the facts and not get discouraged too easily.
CHAPTER VII
IMMEDIATE INFERENCES
§ 1. Under the general title of Immediate Inference Logicians discuss three subjects, namely, Opposition, Conversion, and Obversion; to which some writers add other forms, such as Whole and Part in Connotation, Contraposition, Inversion, etc. Of Opposition, again, all recognise four modes: Subalternation, Contradiction, Contrariety and Sub-contrariety. The only peculiarities of the exposition upon which we are now entering are, that it follows the lead of the three Laws of Thought, taking first those modes of Immediate Inference in which Identity is most important, then those which plainly involve Contradiction and Excluded Middle; and that this method results in separating the modes of Opposition, connecting Subalternation with Conversion, and the other modes with Obversion. To make up for this departure from usage, the four modes of Opposition will be brought together again in § 9.
§ 1. Under the general title of Immediate Inference, logicians discuss three topics: Opposition, Conversion, and Obversion. Some writers also include additional forms like Whole and Part in Connotation, Contraposition, Inversion, etc. Regarding Opposition, everyone recognizes four modes: Subalternation, Contradiction, Contrariety, and Sub-contrariety. The unique aspects of the explanation we are about to explore are that it follows the guidelines of the three Laws of Thought, starting with those modes of Immediate Inference where Identity is most significant, then moving to those that clearly involve Contradiction and the Excluded Middle. This method also results in separating the modes of Opposition, linking Subalternation with Conversion, and connecting the other modes with Obversion. To compensate for this deviation from standard practice, the four modes of Opposition will be brought together again in § 9.
§ 2. Subalternation.—Opposition being the relation of propositions that have the same matter and differ only in form (as A., E., I., O.), propositions of the forms A. and I. are said to be Subalterns in relation to one another, and so are E. and O.; the universal of each quality being distinguished as 'subalternans,' and the particular as 'subalternate.'
§ 2. Subalternation.—Opposition is the relationship between propositions that have the same content but differ only in form (like A., E., I., O.). Propositions of the forms A. and I. are referred to as subalterns in relation to each other, and so are E. and O.; the universal of each quality is called 'subalternans,' and the particular is called 'subalternate.'
It follows from the principle of Identity that, the matter of the propositions being the same, if A. is true I. is true, and that if E. is true O. is true; for A. and E. predicate something of All S or All men; and since I. and O. make [Pg 80]the same predication of Some S or Some men, the sense of these particular propositions has already been predicated in A. or E. If All S is P, Some S is P; if No S is P, Some S is not P; or, if All men are fond of laughing, Some men are; if No men are exempt from ridicule, Some men are not.
It follows from the principle of Identity that, since the subject of the propositions is the same, if A is true, then I is true, and if E is true, then O is true; because A and E attribute something to All S or All men; and since I and O make the same claim about Some S or Some men, the meaning of these specific propositions has already been expressed in A or E. If All S is P, then Some S is P; if No S is P, then Some S is not P; or if All men are fond of laughing, then Some men are; if No men are exempt from ridicule, then Some men are not.
Similarly, if I. is false A. is false; if O. is false E. is false. If we deny any predication about Some S, we must deny it of All S; since in denying it of Some, we have denied it of at least part of All; and whatever is false in one form of words is false in any other.
Similarly, if I is false, A is false; if O is false, E is false. If we deny any statement about Some S, we must deny it about All S; because by denying it for Some, we have denied it for at least part of All; and whatever is false in one way of phrasing is false in any other.
On the other hand, if I. is true, we do not know that A. is; nor if O. is true, that E. is; for to infer from Some to All would be going beyond the evidence. We shall see in discussing Induction that the great problem of that part of Logic is, to determine the conditions under which we may in reality transcend this rule and infer from Some to All; though even there it will appear that, formally, the rule is observed. For the present it is enough that I. is an immediate inference from A., and O. from E.; but that A. is not an immediate inference from I., nor E. from O.
On the other hand, if I. is true, we don’t know if A. is; and if O. is true, we don’t know if E. is either; because inferring from Some to All would go beyond the evidence. We’ll discuss Induction and see that the main issue in that area of Logic is to find the conditions under which we can actually extend this rule and infer from Some to All; although even there, it will be clear that, formally, the rule is still followed. For now, it’s enough to note that I. is an immediate inference from A., and O. is from E.; but A. is not an immediate inference from I., nor is E. from O.
§ 3. Connotative Subalternation.—We have seen (chap. iv. § 6) that if the connotation of one term is only part of another's its denotation is greater and includes that other's. Hence genus and species stand in subaltern relation, and whatever is true of the genus is true of the species: If All animal life is dependent on vegetation, All human life is dependent on vegetation. On the other hand, whatever is not true of the species or narrower term, cannot be true of the whole genus: If it is false that 'All human life is happy,' it is false that 'All animal life is happy.'
§ 3. Connotative Subalternation.—We have seen (chap. iv. § 6) that if one term's connotation is just a part of another's, then its denotation is broader and includes that of the other term. Therefore, genus and species have a subaltern relationship, meaning whatever is true for the genus is also true for the species: If All animal life depends on vegetation, All human life depends on vegetation. Conversely, if something is not true for the species or narrower term, it can’t be true for the entire genus: If it’s false that 'All human life is happy,' then it’s false that 'All animal life is happy.'
Similar inferences may be drawn from the subaltern relation of predicates; affirming the species we affirm the genus. To take Mill's example, if Socrates is a man, Socrates is a living creature. On the other hand, denying the genus we deny the species: if Socrates is not vicious, Socrates is not drunken.
Similar conclusions can be drawn from the subordinate relationship of predicates; by affirming the species, we also affirm the genus. Using Mill's example, if Socrates is a man, then Socrates is a living creature. Conversely, by denying the genus, we deny the species: if Socrates is not vicious, then Socrates is not drunken.
Such cases as these are recognised by Mill and Bain as immediate inferences under the principle of Identity. But some Logicians might treat them as imperfect syllogisms, requiring another premise to legitimate the conclusion, thus:
Such cases are recognized by Mill and Bain as direct conclusions based on the principle of Identity. However, some logicians might consider them as incomplete syllogisms that need another premise to validate the conclusion, like this:
Or again:
Or again:
The decision of this issue turns upon the question (cf. chap. vi. § 3) how far a Logician is entitled to assume that the terms he uses are understood, and that the identities involved in their meanings will be recognised. And to this question, for the sake of consistency, one of two answers is required; failing which, there remains the rule of thumb. First, it may be held that no terms are understood except those that are defined in expounding the science, such as 'genus' and 'species,' 'connotation' and 'denotation.' But very few Logicians observe this limitation; few would hesitate to substitute 'not wise' for 'foolish.' Yet by what right? Malvolio being foolish, to prove that he is not-wise, we may construct the following syllogism:
The decision on this issue depends on the question (cf. chap. vi. § 3) of how far a logician can assume that the terms they use are understood and that the identities in their meanings will be recognized. To answer this question consistently, one of two answers is needed; otherwise, we're left with a general guideline. First, one might argue that no terms are considered understood except those defined when explaining the science, like 'genus' and 'species,' 'connotation' and 'denotation.' However, very few logicians follow this limitation; most wouldn’t hesitate to replace 'foolish' with 'not wise.' But on what basis? Since Malvolio is foolish, to prove that he is not wise, we can construct the following syllogism:
Is this necessary? Why not?
Is this needed? Why not?
Secondly, it may be held that all terms may be assumed as understood unless a definition is challenged. This principle will justify the substitution of 'not-wise' for 'foolish'; but it will also legitimate the above cases (concerning 'human life' and 'Socrates') as immediate inferences, with innumerable others that might be based [Pg 82]upon the doctrine of relative terms: for example, The hunter missed his aim: therefore, The prey escaped. And from this principle it will further follow that all apparent syllogisms, having one premise a verbal proposition, are immediate inferences (cf. chap. ix. § 4).
Secondly, it can be argued that all terms can be considered understood unless a definition is questioned. This principle allows for 'not-wise' to replace 'foolish'; however, it also validates the previous examples (regarding 'human life' and 'Socrates') as direct conclusions, along with countless others that could be derived [Pg 82] from the concept of relative terms: for instance, The hunter missed his aim: therefore, The prey escaped. Additionally, this principle implies that all apparent syllogisms, with one premise being a verbal proposition, are direct conclusions (cf. chap. ix. § 4).
Closely connected with such cases as the above are those mentioned by Archbishop Thomson as "Immediate Inferences by added Determinants" (Laws of Thought, § 87). He takes the case: 'A negro is a fellow-creature: therefore, A negro in suffering is a fellow-creature in suffering.' This rests upon the principle that to increase the connotations of two terms by the same attribute or determinant does not affect the relationship of their denotations, since it must equally diminish (if at all) the denotations of both classes, by excluding the same individuals, if any want the given attribute. But this principle is true only when the added attribute is not merely the same verbally, but has the same significance in qualifying both terms. We cannot argue A mouse is an animal; therefore, A large mouse is a large animal; for 'large' is an attribute relative to the normal magnitude of the thing described.
Closely related to the cases mentioned above are those discussed by Archbishop Thomson as "Immediate Inferences by added Determinants" (Laws of Thought, § 87). He presents the example: 'A black person is a fellow human: therefore, A black person in suffering is a fellow human in suffering.' This is based on the idea that adding the same attribute or determinant to two terms doesn't change the relationship of their meanings; instead, it must similarly narrow (if at all) the meanings of both groups by excluding the same individuals, if any lack the specified attribute. However, this idea only holds true when the added attribute is not only identical in wording but also has the same implications for both terms. We cannot say A mouse is an animal; therefore, A large mouse is a large animal; because 'large' is an attribute that depends on the typical size of the thing being described.
§ 4. Conversion is Immediate Inference by transposing the terms of a given proposition without altering its quality. If the quantity is also unaltered, the inference is called 'Simple Conversion'; but if the quantity is changed from universal to particular, it is called 'Conversion by limitation' or 'per accidens.' The given proposition is called the 'convertend'; that which is derived from it, the 'converse.'
§ 4. Conversion is Immediate Inference by switching the terms of a given statement without changing its quality. If the quantity remains unchanged, the inference is called 'Simple Conversion'; but if the quantity changes from universal to particular, it is referred to as 'Conversion by limitation' or 'per accidens.' The original statement is known as the 'convertend'; the derived statement is called the 'converse.'
Departing from the usual order of exposition, I have taken up Conversion next to Subalternation, because it is generally thought to rest upon the principle of Identity, and because it seems to be a good method to exhaust the forms that come only under Identity before going on to those that involve Contradiction and Excluded Middle. Some, indeed, dispute the claims of Conversion to illustrate the principle of[Pg 83] Identity; and if the sufficient statement of that principle be 'A is A,' it may be a question how Conversion or any other mode of inference can be referred to it. But if we state it as above (chap. vi. § 3), that whatever is true in one form of words is true in any other, there is no difficulty in applying it to Conversion.
Departing from the usual order of explanation, I’ve chosen to discuss Conversion right after Subalternation because it’s generally believed to be based on the principle of Identity. It seems like a good approach to explore the forms that fall under Identity before moving on to those that involve Contradiction and Excluded Middle. Some people indeed challenge Conversion’s ability to illustrate the principle of[Pg 83] Identity; and if we define that principle as 'A is A,' it raises the question of how Conversion, or any other form of reasoning, relates to it. However, if we express it as above (chap. vi. § 3), meaning that whatever is true in one way of saying it is also true in another, it becomes easy to apply it to Conversion.
Thus, to take the simple conversion of I.,
Thus, to take the straightforward conversion of I.,
Here the convertend and the converse say the same thing, and this is true if that is.
Here the convertend and the converse say the same thing, and this is true if that is.
We have, then, two cases of simple conversion: of I. (as above) and of E. For E.:
We have, then, two cases of simple conversion: of I. (as mentioned earlier) and of E. For E.:
In converting I., the predicate (P) when taken as the new subject, being preindesignate, is treated as particular; and in converting E., the predicate (P), when taken as the new subject, is treated as universal, according to the rule in chap. v. § 1.
In the conversion of I., the predicate (P), when used as the new subject, is considered particular because it hasn't been pre-defined. In the conversion of E., the predicate (P), when used as the new subject, is considered universal, according to the rule in chap. v. § 1.
A. is the one case of conversion by limitation:
A. is the only case of conversion by limitation:
The predicate is treated as particular, when taking it for the new subject, according to the rule not to go beyond the evidence. To infer that All things grey in the dark are cats would be palpably absurd; yet no error of reasoning is commoner than the simple conversion of A. The validity of conversion by limitation may be shown thus: if, All S is P, then, by subalternation, Some S is P, and therefore, by simple conversion, Some P is S.
The predicate is considered particular when it's taken as the new subject, following the rule to stick to the evidence. To conclude that All things grey in the dark are cats would be clearly ridiculous; however, there's no reasoning error more common than the simple conversion of A. The validity of conversion by limitation can be demonstrated this way: if All S is P, then, through subalternation, Some S is P, and consequently, through simple conversion, Some P is S.
O. cannot be truly converted. If we take the proposition:[Pg 84] Some S is not P, to convert this into No P is S, or Some P is not S, would break the rule in chap. vi. § 6; since S, undistributed in the convertend, would be distributed in the converse. If we are told that Some men are not cooks, we cannot infer that Some cooks are not men. This would be to assume that 'Some men' are identical with 'All men.'
O. cannot be truly converted. If we take the statement:[Pg 84] Some S is not P, converting this to No P is S, or Some P is not S, would violate the rule in chap. vi. § 6; since S, which is not fully included in the original statement, would be fully included in the converted one. If we say that Some men are not cooks, we cannot conclude that Some cooks are not men. That would mean we are assuming that 'Some men' are the same as 'All men.'
By quantifying the predicate, indeed, we may convert O. simply, thus:
By measuring the predicate, we can simplify O. like this:
And the same plan has some advantage in converting A.; for by the usual method per accidens, the converse of A. being I., if we convert this again it is still I., and therefore means less than our original convertend. Thus:
And the same plan has some advantage in converting A.; because by the usual method per accidens, the converse of A. being I., if we convert this again it remains I., and therefore means less than our original item to convert. Thus:
Such knowledge, as that All S (the whole of it) is P, is too precious a thing to be squandered in pure Logic; and it may be preserved by quantifying the predicate; for if we convert A. to Y., thus—
Such knowledge, like that All S (the whole of it) is P, is too valuable to be wasted in pure Logic; and it can be preserved by quantifying the predicate; for if we change A. to Y., this way—
we may reconvert Y. to A. without any loss of meaning. It is the chief use of quantifying the predicate that, thereby, every proposition is capable of simple conversion.
we can convert Y. to A. without losing any meaning. The main benefit of quantifying the predicate is that it allows every proposition to be easily converted.
The conversion of propositions in which the relation of terms is inadequately expressed (see chap. ii., § 2) by the ordinary copula (is or is not) needs a special rule. To argue thus—
The conversion of statements where the relationship between terms is not clearly expressed (see chap. ii., § 2) using the ordinary copula (is or is not) requires a specific rule. To argue like this—
would be clumsy formalism. We usually say, and we ought to say—
would be awkward formality. We often say, and we should say—
Now, any relation between two terms may be viewed from either side—A: B or B: A. It is in both cases the same fact; but, with the altered point of view, it may present a different character. For example, in the Immediate Inference—A > B ∴ B < A—a diminishing turns [Pg 85]into an increasing ratio, whilst the fact predicated remains the same. Given, then, a relation between two terms as viewed from one to the other, the same relation viewed from the other to the one may be called the Reciprocal. In the cases of Equality, Co-existence and Simultaneity, the given relation and its reciprocal are not only the same fact, but they also have the same character: in the cases of Greater and Less and Sequence, the character alters.
Now, any relationship between two terms can be seen from either side—A: B or B: A. In both cases, it's the same fact; however, with the different perspective, it might take on a different nature. For instance, in Immediate Inference—A > B ∴ B < A—a decrease turns into an increase, while the fact itself stays the same. So, when looking at a relationship between two terms from one to the other, the same relationship viewed from the other to the one can be called the Reciprocal. In the cases of Equality, Co-existence, and Simultaneity, the given relationship and its reciprocal are not only the same fact but also share the same nature: in the cases of Greater and Less and Sequence, the nature changes.
We may, then, state the following rule for the conversion of propositions in which the whole relation explicitly stated is taken as the copula: Transpose the terms, and for the given relation substitute its reciprocal. Thus—
We can summarize the following rule for converting statements where the entire relationship is explicitly presented as the connector: Switch the terms, and for the existing relationship, replace it with its opposite. So—
The rule assumes that the reciprocal of a given relation is definitely known; and so far as this is true it may be extended to more concrete relations—
The rule assumes that the opposite of a given relationship is clearly known; and as far as this is true, it can be applied to more specific relationships—
But not every relational expression has only one definite reciprocal. If we are told that A is the brother of B, we can only infer that B is either the brother or the sister of A. A list of all reciprocal relations is a desideratum of Logic.
But not every relational expression has just one clear reciprocal. If we hear that A is the brother of B, we can only conclude that B is either the brother or sister of A. A complete list of all reciprocal relations is something Logic needs.
§ 5. Obversion (otherwise called Permutation or Æquipollence) is Immediate Inference by changing the quality of the given proposition and substituting for its predicate the contradictory term. The given proposition is called the 'obvertend,' and the inference from it the 'obverse.' Thus the obvertend being—Some philosophers are consistent reasoners, the obverse will be—Some philosophers are not inconsistent reasoners.
§ 5. Obversion (also known as Permutation or Equivalence) is an immediate inference made by changing the quality of the given statement and replacing its predicate with the contradictory term. The original statement is referred to as the 'obvertend,' and the inference drawn from it is called the 'obverse.' So, if the obvertend is—Some philosophers are consistent reasoners, the obverse will be—Some philosophers are not inconsistent reasoners.
The legitimacy of this mode of reasoning follows, in the case of affirmative propositions, from the principle of Contradiction, that if any term be affirmed of a subject, the contradictory term may be denied (chap. vi. § 3). To obvert affirmative propositions, then, the rule is—Insert the [Pg 86]negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory term.
The validity of this way of thinking, for affirmative statements, comes from the principle of contradiction: if you state something about a subject, you can deny its opposite (chap. vi. § 3). To convert affirmative statements to their opposite, the rule is—add the [Pg 86]negative sign, and replace the predicate with its opposite term.
A. | All S is P ∴ No S is not-P |
All men are fallible ∴ No men are infallible. | |
I. | Some S is P ∴ some S is not-P |
Some philosophers are consistent ∴ Some philosophers are not inconsistent. |
In agreement with this mode of inference, we have the rule of modern English grammar, that 'two negatives make an affirmative.'
In line with this way of reasoning, we have the rule of modern English grammar that 'two negatives make a positive.'
Again, by the principle of Excluded Middle, if any term be denied of a subject, its contradictory may be affirmed: to obvert negative propositions, then, the rule is—Remove the negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory term.
Again, according to the principle of Excluded Middle, if any term is denied of a subject, its opposite can be affirmed: to convert negative propositions, the rule is—Remove the negative sign, and replace the predicate with its opposite term.
E. | No S is P ∴ All S is not-P |
No matter is destructible ∴ All matter is indestructible. | |
O. | Some S is not P ∴ Some S is not-P |
Some ideals are not attainable ∴ Some ideals are unattainable. |
Thus, by obversion, each of the four propositions retains its quantity but changes its quality: A. to E., I. to O., E. to A., O. to I. And all the obverses are infinite propositions, the affirmative infinites having the sense of negatives, and the negative infinites having the sense of affirmatives.
Thus, by obversion, each of the four statements keeps its quantity but changes its quality: A. to E., I. to O., E. to A., O. to I. All the obverses are infinite statements, with affirmative infinites meaning negatives, and negative infinites meaning affirmatives.
Again, having obtained the obverse of a given proposition, it may be desirable to recover the obvertend; or it may at any time be requisite to change a given infinite proposition into the corresponding direct affirmative or negative; and in such cases the process is still obversion. Thus, if No S is not-P be given us to recover the obvertend or to find the corresponding affirmative; the proposition being formally negative, we apply the rule for obverting negatives: 'Remove the negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory.' This yields the affirmative All S is P.[Pg 87] Similarly, to obtain the obvertend of All S is not-P, apply the rule for obverting Affirmatives; and this yields No S is P.
Again, once we have the opposite of a given statement, it might be helpful to get back to the original statement; or it might sometimes be necessary to convert a given infinite statement into the corresponding direct affirmative or negative; and in these cases, the process is still called obversion. Thus, if No S is not-P is given to us to recover the original statement or to find the corresponding affirmative; since the statement is formally negative, we apply the rule for changing negatives: 'Remove the negative sign, and replace the predicate with its opposite.' This gives us the affirmative All S is P.[Pg 87] Similarly, to obtain the original statement from All S is not-P, apply the rule for changing Affirmatives; and this results in No S is P.
§ 6. Contrariety.—We have seen in chap. iv. § 8, that contrary terms are such that no two of them are predicable in the same way of the same subject, whilst perhaps neither may be predicable of it. Similarly, Contrary Propositions may be defined as those of which no two are ever both true together, whilst perhaps neither may be true; or, in other words, both may be false. This is the relation between A. and E. when concerned with the same matter: as A.—All men are wise; E.—No men are wise. Such propositions cannot both be true; but they may both be false, for some men may be wise and some not. They cannot both be true; for, by the principle of Contradiction, if wise may be affirmed of All men, not-wise must be denied; but All men are not-wise is the obverse of No men are wise, which therefore may also be denied.
§ 6. Contrariety.—We have seen in chap. iv. § 8 that contrary terms are ones that cannot both apply in the same way to the same subject, and it’s possible that neither of them applies at all. Similarly, we can define Contrary Propositions as those where no two can ever be true at the same time, with the possibility that neither might be true; in other words, both could be false. This is the relationship between A and E regarding the same topic: A.—All men are wise; E.—No men are wise. These propositions cannot both be true, but they can both be false because some men may be wise while others are not. They cannot both be true; according to the principle of Contradiction, if wise applies to All men, then not-wise must be denied; however, All men are not-wise is the opposite of No men are wise, which can also be denied.
At the same time we cannot apply to A. and E. the principle of Excluded Middle, so as to show that one of them must be true of the same matter. For if we deny that All men are wise, we do not necessarily deny the attribute 'wise' of each and every man: to say that Not all are wise may mean no more than that Some are not. This gives a proposition in the form of O.; which, as we have seen, does not imply its subalternans, E.
At the same time, we can’t apply the principle of Excluded Middle to A. and E. to prove that one of them must be true. For if we deny that All men are wise, we don’t necessarily deny that the attribute 'wise' applies to each and every man: saying that Not all are wise could just mean that Some are not. This gives us a proposition in the form of O., which, as we’ve seen, doesn’t imply its subalternans, E.
If, however, two Singular Propositions, having the same matter, but differing in quality, are to be treated as universals, and therefore as A. and E., they are, nevertheless, contradictory and not merely contrary; for one of them must be false and the other true.
If, however, two Singular Propositions share the same content but differ in quality and are to be treated as universals, thus being classified as A. and E., they are still contradictory and not just contrary; because one of them must be false while the other is true.
§ 7. Contradiction is a relation between two propositions analogous to that between contradictory terms (one of which being affirmed of a subject the other is denied)—such, namely, that one of them is false and the other true. This is the case with the forms A. and O., and E. and I., in the same matter. If it be true that All men are wise, it is false that[Pg 88] Some men are not wise (equivalent by obversion to Some men are not-wise); or else, since the 'Some men' are included in the 'All men,' we should be predicating of the same men that they are both 'wise' and 'not-wise'; which would violate the principle of Contradiction. Similarly, No men are wise, being by obversion equivalent to All men are not-wise, is incompatible with Some men are wise, by the same principle of Contradiction.
§ 7. Contradiction is a relationship between two statements that is similar to the relationship between opposing terms (where one is affirmed about a subject and the other is denied)—in such a way that one is false and the other is true. This applies to the forms A. and O., and E. and I., concerning the same subject. If it is true that All men are wise, then it is false that Some men are not wise (which is equivalent by obversion to Some men are not-wise); otherwise, since 'Some men' are included in 'All men,' we would be saying of the same men that they are both 'wise' and 'not-wise'; which would contradict the principle of Contradiction. Likewise, No men are wise, which by obversion is equivalent to All men are not-wise, is inconsistent with Some men are wise, following the same principle of Contradiction.
But, again, if it be false that All men are wise, it is always true that Some are not wise; for though in denying that 'wise' is a predicate of 'All men' we do not deny it of each and every man, yet we deny it of 'Some men.' Of 'Some men,' therefore, by the principle of Excluded Middle, 'not-wise' is to be affirmed; and Some men are not-wise, is by obversion equivalent to Some men are not wise. Similarly, if it be false that No men are wise, which by obversion is equivalent to All men are not-wise, then it is true at least that Some men are wise.
But, again, if it's false that All men are wise, it's always true that Some are not wise; because when we deny that 'wise' applies to 'All men,' we're not saying it doesn't apply to every single man, but we are saying it doesn't apply to 'Some men.' Therefore, based on the principle of Excluded Middle, we can confirm that 'not-wise' applies to 'Some men,' and Some men are not-wise is equivalent to Some men are not wise when we look at it this way. Similarly, if it's false that No men are wise, which is equivalent to All men are not-wise, then it must be true at least that Some men are wise.
By extending and enforcing the doctrine of relative terms, certain other inferences are implied in the contrary and contradictory relations of propositions. We have seen in chap. iv. that the contradictory of a given term includes all its contraries: 'not-blue,' for example, includes red and yellow. Hence, since The sky is blue becomes by obversion, The sky is not not-blue, we may also infer The sky is not red, etc. From the truth, then, of any proposition predicating a given term, we may infer the falsity of all propositions predicating the contrary terms in the same relation. But, on the other hand, from the falsity of a proposition predicating a given term, we cannot infer the truth of the predication of any particular contrary term. If it be false that The sky is red, we cannot formally infer, that The sky is blue (cf. chap. iv. § 8).
By expanding and applying the doctrine of relative terms, certain additional conclusions are implied in the opposing and contradictory relationships of statements. We have seen in chap. iv. that the contradiction of a specific term includes all its opposites: 'not-blue,' for instance, includes red and yellow. Therefore, since The sky is blue becomes, through obversion, The sky is not not-blue, we can also infer that The sky is not red, etc.. From the truth of any statement asserting a specific term, we can deduce the falsity of all statements asserting the opposite terms in the same context. However, conversely, from the falsehood of a statement asserting a specific term, we cannot conclude the truth of the assertion of any particular opposite term. If it is false that The sky is red, we cannot formally deduce that The sky is blue (cf. chap. iv. § 8).
§ 8. Sub-contrariety is the relation of two propositions, concerning the same matter that may both be true but are never both false. This is the case with I. and O. If it [Pg 89]be true that Some men are wise, it may also be true that Some (other) men are not wise. This follows from the maxim in chap. vi. § 6, not to go beyond the evidence.
§ 8. Sub-contrariety is the relationship between two propositions about the same subject that can both be true but can never both be false. This applies to I. and O. If it’s true that Some men are wise, it can also be true that Some (other) men are not wise. This stems from the principle in chap. vi. § 6, which advises not to go beyond the evidence.
For if it be true that Some men are wise, it may indeed be true that All are (this being the subalternans): and if All are, it is (by contradiction) false that Some are not; but as we are only told that Some men are, it is illicit to infer the falsity of Some are not, which could only be justified by evidence concerning All men.
For if it’s true that Some men are wise, it might also be true that All are (this being the subaltern): and if All are, then (by contradiction) it’s false that Some are not; but since we are only told that Some men are, it’s not acceptable to conclude that Some are not, unless there is evidence regarding All men.
But if it be false that Some men are wise, it is true that Some men are not wise; for, by contradiction, if Some men are wise is false, No men are wise is true; and, therefore, by subalternation, Some men are not wise is true.
But if it's not true that Some men are wise, then it's true that Some men are not wise; because, by contradiction, if Some men are wise is false, then No men are wise is true; and therefore, by subalternation, Some men are not wise is true.
§ 9. The Square of Opposition.—By their relations of Subalternation, Contrariety, Contradiction, and Sub-contrariety, the forms A. I. E. O. (having the same matter) are said to stand in Opposition: and Logicians represent these relations by a square having A. I. E. O. at its corners:
§ 9. The Square of Opposition.—The forms A, I, E, O (which share the same subject matter) are considered to stand in Opposition through their relationships of Subalternation, Contrariety, Contradiction, and Sub-contrariety. Logicians depict these relationships using a square with A, I, E, O at its corners:

As an aid to the memory, this diagram is useful; but as an attempt to represent the logical relations of propositions, it is misleading. For, standing at corners of the same square, A. and E., A. and I., E. and O., and I. and O., seem to be couples bearing the same relation to one another; whereas we have seen that their relations are entirely different.[Pg 90] The following traditional summary of their relations in respect of truth and falsity is much more to the purpose:
As a memory aid, this diagram is helpful; however, as a way to show the logical connections between propositions, it is misleading. From the corners of the same square, A and E, A and I, E and O, and I and O appear to be pairs with the same relation to each other, but we have seen that their relationships are completely different.[Pg 90] The following traditional summary of their relationships regarding truth and falsity is much more relevant:
(1) | If A. is true, | I. is true, | E. is false, | O. is false. |
(2) | If A. is false, | I. is unknown, | E. is unknown, | O. is true. |
(3) | If I. is true, | A. is unknown, | E. is false, | O. is unknown. |
(4) | If I. is false, | A. is false, | E. is true, | O. is true. |
(5) | If E. is true, | A. is false, | I. is false, | O. is true. |
(6) | If E. is false, | A. is unknown, | I. is true, | O. is unknown. |
(7) | If O. is true, | A. is false, | I. is unknown, | E. is unknown. |
(8) | If O. is false, | A. is true, | I. is true, | E. is false. |
Where, however, as in cases 2, 3, 6, 7, alleging either the falsity of universals or the truth of particulars, it follows that two of the three Opposites are unknown, we may conclude further that one of them must be true and the other false, because the two unknown are always Contradictories.
Where, however, as in cases 2, 3, 6, and 7, claiming either that universals are false or particulars are true, it follows that two of the three Opposites are unknown. We can further conclude that one of them must be true and the other false, because the two unknowns are always Contradictories.
§ 10. Secondary modes of Immediate Inference are obtained by applying the process of Conversion or Obversion to the results already obtained by the other process. The best known secondary form of Immediate Inference is the Contrapositive, and this is the converse of the obverse of a given proposition. Thus:
§ 10. Secondary methods of Immediate Inference are derived by using the processes of Conversion or Obversion on the results previously obtained from other methods. The most recognized secondary form of Immediate Inference is the Contrapositive, which is the opposite of the obverse of a given statement. Thus:
DATUM. | OBVERSE. | CONTRAPOSITIVE. |
A. All S is P | ∴ No S is not-P | ∴ No not-P is S |
I. Some S is P | ∴ Some S is not not-P | ∴ (none) |
E. No S is P | ∴ All S is not-P | ∴ Some not-P is S |
O. Some S is not P | ∴ Some S is not-P | ∴ Some not-P is S |
There is no contrapositive of I., because the obverse of I. is in the form of O., and we have seen that O. cannot be converted. O., however, has a contrapositive (Some not-P is S); and this is sometimes given instead of the converse, and called the 'converse by negation.'
There is no contrapositive of I., because the obverse of I. is in the form of O., and we have seen that O. cannot be converted. O., however, has a contrapositive (Some not-P is S); and this is sometimes given instead of the converse, and called the 'converse by negation.'
Contraposition needs no justification by the Laws of Thought, as it is nothing but a compounding of conversion with obversion, both of which processes have already been justified. I give a table opposite of the other ways of compounding these primary modes of Immediate Inference.
Contraposition doesn't require validation by the Laws of Thought, as it simply combines conversion and obversion, both of which have already been validated. I've included a table next to this that shows other ways to combine these primary modes of Immediate Inference.
A. | I. | E. | O. | ||
1 | All A is B. | Some A is B. | No A is B. | Some A is not B. | |
Obverse. | 2 | No A is b. | Some A is not b. | All A is b. | Some A is b. |
Converse. | 3 | Some B is A. | Some B is A. | No B is A. | — |
Obverse of Converse. | 4 | Some B is not a. | Some B is not a. | All B is a. | — |
Contrapositive. | 5 | No b is A. | — | Some b is A. | Some b is A. |
Obverse of Contrapositive. | 6 | All b is a. | — | Some b is not a. | Some b is not a. |
Converse of Obverse of Converse. | 7 | — | — | Some a is B. | — |
Obverse of Converse of Obverse of Converse. | 8 | — | — | Some a is not b. | — |
Converse of Obverse of Contrapositive. | 9 | Some a is b. | — | — | — |
Obverse of Converse of Obverse of Contrapositive. | 10 | Some a is not B. | — | — | — |
It may not, at first, be obvious why the process of alternately obverting and converting any proposition should ever come to an end; though it will, no doubt, be considered a very fortunate circumstance that it always does end. On examining the results, it will be found that the cause of its ending is the inconvertibility of O. For E., when obverted, becomes A.; every A, when converted, degenerates into I.; every I., when obverted, becomes O.; O cannot be converted, and to obvert it again is merely to restore the former proposition: so that the whole process moves on to inevitable dissolution. I. and O. are exhausted by three transformations, whilst A. and E. will each endure seven.
It might not be immediately clear why the process of alternately changing a statement from one form to another should ever stop; but it’s definitely a good thing that it always does. When we look at the outcomes, we see that the reason it ends is the inability to convert the O form. When E is changed, it turns into A; every A, when converted, changes into I; every I, when changed, becomes O; but O can’t be converted, and changing it back just brings us back to the original statement: so the whole process inevitably falls apart. I and O get used up after three changes, while A and E can each go through seven changes.
Except Obversion, Conversion and Contraposition, it has not been usual to bestow special names on these processes or their results. But the form in columns 7 and 10 (Some a is B—Some a is not B), where the original predicate is affirmed or denied of the contradictory of the original subject, has been thought by Dr. Keynes to deserve a distinctive title, and he has called it the 'Inverse.' Whilst the Inverse is one form, however, Inversion is not one process, but is obtained by different processes from E. and A. respectively. In this it differs from Obversion, Conversion, and Contraposition, each of which stands for one process.
Except for Obversion, Conversion, and Contraposition, it's not common to give special names to these processes or their outcomes. However, the form in columns 7 and 10 (Some a is B—Some a is not B), where the original predicate is affirmed or denied regarding the contradictory of the original subject, has been considered by Dr. Keynes worthy of a unique title, which he called the 'Inverse.' While the Inverse is one form, Inversion is not a single process but is derived from different processes based on E. and A., respectively. This differentiates it from Obversion, Conversion, and Contraposition, each of which represents one specific process.
The Inverse form has been objected to on the ground that the inference All A is B ∴ Some not-A is not B, distributes B (as predicate of a negative proposition), though it was given as undistributed (as predicate of an affirmative proposition). But Dr. Keynes defends it on the ground that (1) it is obtained by obversions and conversions which are all legitimate and (2) that although All A is B does not distribute B in relation to A, it does distribute B in relation to some not-A (namely, in relation to whatever not-A is not-B). This is one reason why, in stating the rule in chap. vi. § 6, I [Pg 93]have written: "an immediate inference ought to contain nothing that is not contained, or formally implied, in the proposition from which it is inferred"; and have maintained that every term formally implies its contradictory within the suppositio.
The Inverse form has been criticized because the inference All A is B ∴ Some not-A is not B distributes B (as the predicate of a negative statement), even though it was originally stated as undistributed (as the predicate of an affirmative statement). However, Dr. Keynes defends it on the grounds that (1) it derives from valid obversions and conversions and (2) that while All A is B does not distribute B in relation to A, it does distribute B regarding some not-A (specifically, in relation to whatever not-A is not-B). This is one reason why, when stating the rule in chap. vi. § 6, I [Pg 93]have written: "an immediate inference should include nothing that is not present, or formally implied, in the proposition from which it is inferred"; and have argued that every term formally implies its opposite within the suppositio.
§ 11. Immediate Inferences from Conditionals are those which consist—(1) in changing a Disjunctive into a Hypothetical, or a Hypothetical into a Disjunctive, or either into a Categorical; and (2) in the relations of Opposition and the equivalences of Obversion, Conversion, and secondary or compound processes, which we have already examined in respect of Categoricals. As no new principles are involved, it may suffice to exhibit some of the results.
§ 11. Immediate Inferences from Conditionals are those that involve—(1) converting a Disjunction into a Conditional, or a Conditional into a Disjunction, or either into a Categorical; and (2) the relationships of Opposition and the equivalences of Obversion, Conversion, and secondary or compound processes, which we have already discussed regarding Categoricals. Since no new principles are introduced, it may be enough to show some of the outcomes.
We have already seen (chap. v. § 4) how Disjunctives may be read as Hypotheticals and Hypotheticals as Categoricals. And, as to Opposition, if we recognise four forms of Hypothetical A. I. E. O., these plainly stand to one another in a Square of Opposition, just as Categoricals do. Thus A. and E. (If A is B, C is D, and If A is B, C is not D) are contraries, but not contradictories; since both may be false (C may sometimes be D, and sometimes not), though they cannot both be true. And if they are both false, their subalternates are both true, being respectively the contradictories of the universals of opposite quality, namely, I. of E., and O. of A. But in the case of Disjunctives, we cannot set out a satisfactory Square of Opposition; because, as we saw (chap. v. § 4), the forms required for E. and O. are not true Disjunctives, but Exponibles.
We have already seen (chap. v. § 4) how Disjunctives can be interpreted as Hypotheticals and Hypotheticals as Categoricals. Regarding Opposition, if we recognize four forms of Hypothetical A, I, E, O, these clearly relate to one another in a Square of Opposition, just like Categoricals do. So A and E (If A is B, C is D, and If A is B, C is not D) are contraries, but not contradictories; because both can be false (C can sometimes be D, and sometimes not), but they cannot both be true. If they are both false, their subalternates are both true, being the contradictories of the universals of opposite quality, namely, I of E, and O of A. However, in the case of Disjunctives, we can't set up a satisfactory Square of Opposition; because, as we saw (chap. v. § 4), the forms needed for E and O are not true Disjunctives, but Exponibles.
The Obverse, Converse, and Contrapositive, of Hypotheticals (admitting the distinction of quality) may be exhibited thus:
The Obverse, Converse, and Contrapositive of Hypotheticals (considering the quality distinction) can be shown like this:
Data. | Front. |
A. If A is B, C is D | If A is B, C is not d |
I. Sometimes when A is B, C is D | Sometimes when A is B, C is not d |
E. If A is B, C is not D | If A is B, C is d |
O. Sometimes when A is B, C is not D | Sometimes when A is B, C is d |
Chat. | Contrapositive statement. |
Sometimes when C is D, A is B | If C is d, A is not B |
Sometimes when C is D, A is B | (none) |
If C is D, A is not B | Sometimes when C is d, A is B |
(none) | Sometimes when C is d, A is B |
As to Disjunctives, the attempt to put them through these different forms immediately destroys their disjunctive character. Still, given any proposition in the form A is either B or C, we can state the propositions that give the sense of obversion, conversion, etc., thus:
As for disjunctives, trying to convert them into these different forms immediately loses their disjunctive nature. However, for any proposition like A is either B or C, we can express the propositions that convey the meaning of obversion, conversion, etc., like this:
Front.—A is neither b nor c;
Converse.—Something, either B or C, is A;
Contrapositive.—If something is A, then it is neither b nor c.
For a Disjunctive in I., of course, there is no Contrapositive. Given a Disjunctive in the form Either A is B or C is D, we may write for its Obverse—In no case is A b, and C at the same time d. But no Converse or Contrapositive of such a Disjunctive can be obtained, except by first casting it into the hypothetical or categorical form.
For a Disjunctive in I., there’s obviously no Contrapositive. Given a Disjunctive like Either A is B or C is D, we can express its Obverse as In no case is A b, and C at the same time d. However, you can't get a Converse or Contrapositive of such a Disjunctive unless you first change it into a hypothetical or categorical form.
The reader who wishes to pursue this subject further, will find it elaborately treated in Dr. Keynes' Formal Logic, Part II.; to which work the above chapter is indebted.
The reader who wants to explore this topic more will find it thoroughly discussed in Dr. Keynes' Formal Logic, Part II.; to which the above chapter is indebted.
CHAPTER VIII
ORDER OF TERMS, EULER'S DIAGRAMS, LOGICAL EQUATIONS, EXISTENTIAL IMPORT OF PROPOSITIONS
§ 1. Of the terms of a proposition which is the Subject and which the Predicate? In most of the exemplary propositions cited by Logicians it will be found that the subject is a substantive and the predicate an adjective, as in Men are mortal. This is the relation of Substance and Attribute which we saw (chap. i. § 5) to be the central type of relations of coinherence; and on this model other predications may be formed in which the subject is not a substance, but is treated as if it were, and could therefore be the ground of attributes; as Fame is treacherous, The weather is changeable. But, in literature, sentences in which the adjective comes first are not uncommon, as Loud was the applause, Dark is the fate of man, Blessed are the peacemakers, and so on. Here, then, 'loud,' 'dark' and 'blessed' occupy the place of the logical subject. Are they really the subject, or must we alter the order of such sentences into The applause was loud, etc.? If we do, and then proceed to convert, we get Loud was the applause, or (more scrupulously) Some loud noise was the applause. The last form, it is true, gives the subject a substantive word, but 'applause' has become the predicate; and if the substantive 'noise' was not implied in the first form, Loud is the applause, by what right is it now inserted? The recognition of Conversion, in fact, requires us to admit that, formally, in a logical [Pg 96]proposition, the term preceding the copula is subject and the one following is predicate. And, of course, materially considered, the mere order of terms in a proposition can make no difference in the method of proving it, nor in the inferences that can be drawn from it.
§ 1. Which part of a proposition is the Subject and which is the Predicate? In most of the examples given by Logicians, you'll find that the subject is a noun and the predicate is an adjective, as in Men are mortal. This represents the relationship of Substance and Attribute, which we saw (chap. i. § 5) is the main type of co-inherent relations; and based on this model, other statements can be formed where the subject isn't a substance but is treated as one and could therefore be the basis for attributes; like in Fame is treacherous, The weather is changeable. However, in literature, sentences where the adjective comes first are quite common, such as Loud was the applause, Dark is the fate of man, Blessed are the peacemakers, and so on. In these cases, 'loud,' 'dark,' and 'blessed' take on the role of the logical subject. Are they really the subject, or should we rearrange these sentences to say The applause was loud, etc.? If we do, and then convert, we get Loud was the applause, or (more carefully) Some loud noise was the applause. The last version, indeed, provides the subject with a noun, but 'applause' has now become the predicate; and if the noun 'noise' wasn't implied in the first form, Loud is the applause, why is it included now? Recognizing Conversion actually requires us to accept that, formally, in a logical [Pg 96] proposition, the term before the copula is the subject and the one that follows is the predicate. And, of course, when examined materially, the simple order of terms in a proposition doesn’t change how it’s proved or the conclusions that can be drawn from it.
Still, if the question is, how we may best cast a literary sentence into logical form, good grounds for a definite answer may perhaps be found. We must not try to stand upon the naturalness of expression, for Dark is the fate of man is quite as natural as Man is mortal. When the purpose is not merely to state a fact, but also to express our feelings about it, to place the grammatical predicate first may be perfectly natural and most effective. But the grounds of a logical order of statement must be found in its adaptation to the purposes of proof and inference. Now general propositions are those from which most inferences can be drawn, which, therefore, it is most important to establish, if true; and they are also the easiest to disprove, if false; since a single negative instance suffices to establish the contradictory. It follows that, in re-casting a literary or colloquial sentence for logical purposes, we should try to obtain a form in which the subject is distributed—is either a singular term or a general term predesignate as 'All' or 'No.' Seeing, then, that most adjectives connote a single attribute, whilst most substantives connote more than one attribute; and that therefore the denotation of adjectives is usually wider than that of substantives; in any proposition, one term of which is an adjective and the other a substantive, if either can be distributed in relation to the other, it is nearly sure to be the substantive; so that to take the substantive term for subject is our best chance of obtaining an universal proposition. These considerations seem to justify the practice of Logicians in selecting their examples.
Still, if the question is how we can best translate a literary sentence into logical form, there may be solid reasons for a clear answer. We shouldn’t rely on the naturalness of expression, because Dark is the fate of man is just as natural as Man is mortal. When the goal isn’t just to state a fact but also to convey our feelings about it, putting the grammatical predicate first can be completely natural and very effective. However, the basis for a logical order of statements needs to be found in its suitability for proof and inference. General propositions are those from which the most inferences can be drawn, which makes establishing them paramount if they are true; they also happen to be the easiest to disprove if false, as a single negative instance is enough to prove the opposite. Therefore, when rephrasing a literary or conversational sentence for logical reasons, we should aim to create a format where the subject is distributed—meaning it should either be a singular term or a general term clearly stated as 'All' or 'No.' Given that most adjectives refer to a single attribute while most nouns refer to multiple attributes, and thus the meaning of adjectives is typically broader than that of nouns; in any statement where one term is an adjective and the other is a noun, if either can be shared concerning the other, it’s very likely that the noun will. Therefore, using the noun term as the subject gives us the best chance of creating a universal proposition. These points seem to support the practice of logicians in choosing their examples.
For similar reasons, if both terms of a proposition are substantive, the one with the lesser denotation is (at least [Pg 97]in affirmative propositions) the more suitable subject, as Cats are carnivores. And if one term is abstract, that is the more suitable subject; for, as we have seen, an abstract term may be interpreted by a corresponding concrete one distributed, as Kindness is infectious; that is, All kind actions suggest imitation.
For similar reasons, if both parts of a statement are nouns, the one with the smaller meaning is (at least [Pg 97]in positive statements) the better subject, like in Cats are carnivores. And if one part is an abstract concept, that part is the better subject; because, as we’ve seen, an abstract term can be represented by a related concrete one in a general way, as in Kindness is infectious; which means All kind actions suggest imitation.
If, however, a controvertist has no other object in view than to refute some general proposition laid down by an opponent, a particular proposition is all that he need disentangle from any statement that serves his purpose.
If a debater's only goal is to challenge a general statement made by an opponent, all they need to clarify is a specific point from any statement that helps their case.
These circles represent the denotation of the terms. Suppose the proposition to be All hollow-horned animals ruminate: then, if we could collect all ruminants upon a prairie, and enclose them with a circular palisade; and segregate from amongst them all the hollow-horned beasts, and enclose them with another ring-fence inside the other; one way of interpreting the proposition (namely, in denotation) would be figured to us thus:
These circles show the meaning of the terms. Let's say the statement is All hollow-horned animals ruminate: if we could gather all ruminants on a prairie and surround them with a circular fence, and then separate all the hollow-horned animals from them and enclose them with another fence inside the first one; one way to interpret the statement (specifically, in meaning) would look like this:

An Universal Affirmative may also state a relation between two terms whose denotation is co-extensive. A definition always does this, as Man is a rational animal; and this, of course, we cannot represent by two distinct [Pg 98]circles, but at best by one with a thick circumference, to suggest that two coincide, thus:
An Universal Affirmative can also express a relationship between two terms that have the same meaning. A definition always does this, like Man is a rational animal; and this, of course, can’t be accurately represented by two separate [Pg 98]circles, but at most by one with a thick outer edge, to indicate that the two overlap, like this:

The Particular Affirmative Proposition may be represented in several ways. In the first place, bearing in mind that 'Some' means 'some at least, it may be all,' an I. proposition may be represented by Figs. 1 and 2; for it is true that Some horned animals ruminate, and that Some men are rational. Secondly, there is the case in which the 'Some things' of which a predication is made are, in fact, not all; whilst the predicate, though not given as distributed, yet might be so given if we wished to state the whole truth; as if we say Some men are Chinese. This case is also represented by Fig. 1, the outside circle representing 'Men,' and the inside one 'Chinese.' Thirdly, the predicate may appertain to some only of the subject, but to a great many other things, as in Some horned beasts are domestic; for it is true that some are not, and that certain other kinds of animals are, domestic. This case, therefore, must be illustrated by overlapping circles, thus:
The Particular Affirmative Proposition can be shown in multiple ways. First, keep in mind that 'Some' means 'at least some, it could be all.' An I proposition can be represented by Figs. 1 and 2; for example, it is true that Some horned animals ruminate, and that Some men are rational. Secondly, there’s the situation where the 'Some things' being described aren’t all of them; while the predicate isn’t shown as distributed, it could be if we wanted to express the whole truth, like when we say Some men are Chinese. This scenario is also shown by Fig. 1, where the outside circle represents 'Men' and the inside one represents 'Chinese.' Thirdly, the predicate can apply to only some of the subject but also to many other things, as in Some horned beasts are domestic; because while some are not, there are also certain other types of animals that are domestic. This case, therefore, must be illustrated by overlapping circles, as follows:

The Universal Negative is sufficiently represented by a single Fig. (4): two circles mutually exclusive, thus:
The Universal Negative is effectively shown by a single Fig. (4): two circles that do not overlap, like this:

That is, No horned beasts are carnivorous.
That is, No horned animals eat meat.
Lastly, the Particular Negative may be represented by any of the Figs. 1, 3, and 4; for it is true that Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, that Some horned animals are not domestic, and that Some horned beasts are not carnivorous.
Lastly, the Particular Negative can be shown by any of the Figs. 1, 3, and 4; for it is true that Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, that Some horned animals are not domestic, and that Some horned beasts are not carnivorous.
Besides their use in illustrating the denotative force of propositions, these circles may be employed to verify the results of Obversion, Conversion, and the secondary modes of Immediate Inference. Thus the Obverse of A. is clear enough on glancing at Figs. 1 and 2; for if we agree that whatever term's denotation is represented by a given circle, the denotation of the contradictory term shall be represented by the space outside that circle; then if it is true that All hollow horned animals are ruminants, it is at the same time true that No hollow-horned animals are not-ruminants; since none of the hollow-horned are found outside the palisade that encloses the ruminants. The Obverse of I., E. or O. may be verified in a similar manner.
Besides their use in showing the direct meaning of propositions, these circles can also be used to confirm the results of Obversion, Conversion, and the secondary types of Immediate Inference. So, the Obverse of A is pretty clear when you look at Figs. 1 and 2; if we agree that whatever term's meaning is shown by a certain circle, then the meaning of the contradictory term will be represented by the space outside that circle. Therefore, if it’s true that All hollow-horned animals are ruminants, it’s also true that No hollow-horned animals are not ruminants; because none of the hollow-horned are found outside the boundary that surrounds the ruminants. You can check the Obverse of I., E., or O. in a similar way.
As to the Converse, a Definition is of course susceptible of Simple Conversion, and this is shown by Fig. 2: 'Men are rational animals' and 'Rational animals are men.' But any other A. proposition is presumably convertible only by limitation, and this is shown by Fig. 1; where All hollow-horned animals are ruminants, but we can only say that Some ruminants are hollow-horned.
As for converses, a definition can easily be reversed, which is illustrated by Fig. 2: 'Men are rational animals' and 'Rational animals are men.' However, any other A proposition is likely convertible only with some restrictions, as shown in Fig. 1; where All hollow-horned animals are ruminants, but we can only say that Some ruminants are hollow-horned.
That I. may be simply converted may be seen in Fig. 3, which represents the least that an I. proposition can mean; and that E. may be simply converted is manifest in Fig. 4.
That I. can be simply converted is shown in Fig. 3, which illustrates the minimum meaning of an I. proposition; and that E. can be simply converted is clear in Fig. 4.
As for O., we know that it cannot be converted, and this is made plain enough by glancing at Fig. 1; for that represents the O., Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, but also shows this to be compatible with All hollow-horned animals are ruminants (A.). Now in conversion there is (by definition) no change of quality. The Converse, then, of Some ruminants are not hollow-horned must be a negative proposition, having 'hollow-horned' for its subject, either in E. or O.; but these would be respectively the contrary and contradictory of All hollow-horned animals are ruminants; and, therefore, if this be true, they must both be false.
As for O., we know that it can't be converted, and this is clear enough just by looking at Fig. 1; it represents the O., Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, but it also shows that this is compatible with All hollow-horned animals are ruminants (A.). Now in conversion, there is (by definition) no change in quality. The converse of Some ruminants are not hollow-horned must be a negative statement, with 'hollow-horned' as its subject, either in E. or O.; but these would be the contrary and contradictory of All hollow-horned animals are ruminants; therefore, if this is true, both must be false.
But (referring still to Fig. 1) the legitimacy of contrapositing O. is equally clear; for if Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, Some animals that are not hollow-horned are ruminants, namely, all the animals between the two ring-fences. Similar inferences may be illustrated from Figs. 3 and 4. And the Contraposition of A. may be verified by Figs. 1 and 2, and the Contraposition of E. by Fig. 4.
But (still referring to Fig. 1) the validity of contraposing O. is just as clear; if Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, then Some animals that are not hollow-horned are ruminants, specifically, all the animals between the two boundaries. Similar conclusions can be drawn from Figs. 3 and 4. The Contraposition of A. can be confirmed by Figs. 1 and 2, and the Contraposition of E. can be verified by Fig. 4.
Lastly, the Inverse of A. is plain from Fig. 1—Some things that are not hollow-horned are not ruminants, namely, things that lie outside the outer circle and are neither 'ruminants' nor 'hollow-horned.' And the Inverse of E may be studied in Fig. 4—Some things that are not-horned beasts are carnivorous.
Lastly, the Inverse of A is clear from Fig. 1—Some things that are not hollow-horned are not ruminants, specifically those that lie outside the outer circle and are neither 'ruminants' nor 'hollow-horned.' And the Inverse of E can be seen in Fig. 4—Some things that are not horned beasts are carnivorous.
Notwithstanding the facility and clearness of the demonstrations thus obtained, it may be said that a diagrammatic method, representing denotations, is not properly logical. Fundamentally, the relation asserted (or denied) to exist between the terms of a proposition, is a relation between the terms as determined by their attributes or connotation; whether we take Mill's view, that a proposition asserts that the connotation of the subject is a mark of the connota[Pg 101]tion of the predicate; or Dr. Venn's view, that things denoted by the subject (as having its connotation) have (or have not) the attribute connoted by the predicate; or, the Conceptualist view, that a judgment is a relation of concepts (that is, of connotations). With a few exceptions artificially framed (such as 'kings now reigning in Europe'), the denotation of a term is never directly and exhaustively known, but consists merely in 'all things that have the connotation.' If the value of logical training depends very much upon our habituating ourselves to construe propositions, and to realise the force of inferences from them, according to the connotation of their terms, we shall do well not to turn too hastily to the circles, but rather to regard them as means of verifying in denotation the conclusions that we have already learnt to recognise as necessary in connotation.
Despite the ease and clarity of the demonstrations obtained, it can be said that a diagrammatic method, which shows denotations, is not truly logical. Essentially, the relation claimed (or denied) to exist between the terms of a proposition is a relationship between the terms as defined by their attributes or connotation; whether we consider Mill's view, which states that a proposition claims that the connotation of the subject is a mark of the connotation of the predicate; or Dr. Venn's perspective, which holds that the things indicated by the subject (as having its connotation) do (or do not) have the attribute conveyed by the predicate; or the Conceptualist perspective, which sees a judgment as a relationship of concepts (that is, of connotations). With a few exceptions that are artificially constructed (like 'kings currently ruling in Europe'), the denotation of a term is never fully and directly known but consists only of 'all things that have the connotation.' If the value of logical training greatly relies on our habit of interpreting propositions and understanding the strength of inferences drawn from them based on the connotation of their terms, we should be careful not to rush into circles, but rather view them as tools for verifying in denotation the conclusions we have already learned to recognize as necessary in connotation.
§ 3. The equational treatment of propositions is closely connected with the diagrammatic. Hamilton thought it a great merit of his plan of quantifying the predicate, that thereby every proposition is reduced to its true form—an equation. According to this doctrine, the proposition All X is all Y (U.) equates X and Y; the proposition All X is some Y (A.) equates X with some part of Y; and similarly with the other affirmatives (Y. and I.). And so far it is easy to follow his meaning: the Xs are identical with some or all the Ys. But, coming to the negatives, the equational interpretation is certainly less obvious. The proposition No X is Y (E.) cannot be said in any sense to equate X and Y; though, if we obvert it into All X is some not-Y, we have (in the same sense, of course, as in the above affirmative forms) X equated with part at least of 'not-Y.'
§ 3. The mathematical approach to propositions is closely tied to the visual representation. Hamilton believed that a major advantage of his plan to quantify the predicate was that it reformed every proposition into its true expression—an equation. According to this idea, the proposition All X is all Y (U.) equates X and Y; the proposition All X is some Y (A.) equates X with some portion of Y; and this applies similarly to the other affirmative forms (Y. and I.). So far, it’s straightforward to grasp his meaning: the Xs are the same as some or all of the Ys. However, when it comes to the negatives, the mathematical interpretation is definitely less clear. The proposition No X is Y (E.) cannot really be said to equate X and Y; although, if we change it to All X is some not-Y, we then have (in the same sense as the affirmative forms above) X equated with at least part of 'not-Y.'
But what is that sense? Clearly not the same as that in which mathematical terms are equated, namely, in respect of some mode of quantity. For if we may say Some X is some Y, these Xs that are also Ys are not merely the same in number, or mass, or figure; they are the same in every [Pg 102]respect, both quantitative and qualitative, have the same positions in time and place, are in fact identical. The proposition 2+2=4 means that any two things added to any other two are, in respect of number, equal to any three things added to one other thing; and this is true of all things that can be counted, however much they may differ in other ways. But All X is all Y means that Xs and Ys are the same things, although they have different names when viewed in different aspects or relations. Thus all equilateral triangles are equiangular triangles; but in one case they are named from the equality of their angles, and in the other from the equality of their sides. Similarly, 'British subjects' and 'subjects of King George V' are the same people, named in one case from the person of the Crown, and in the other from the Imperial Government. These logical equations, then, are in truth identities of denotation; and they are fully illustrated by the relations of circles described in the previous section.
But what does that sense mean? Clearly, it’s not the same as when mathematical terms are compared in terms of quantity. When we say Some X is some Y, those Xs that are also Ys are not just the same in number, mass, or shape; they are the same in every [Pg 102] way, both quantitatively and qualitatively, they occupy the same positions in time and space, and they are essentially identical. The statement 2+2=4 means that if you add any two things to any other two, in terms of number, they equal any three things added to one other thing; this holds true for everything countable, no matter how different they may be in other ways. But All X is all Y indicates that Xs and Ys are the same entities, even though they have different names depending on the aspect or relationship considered. For example, all equilateral triangles are equiangular triangles; in one instance, they are named for the equality of their angles, and in the other, for the equality of their sides. Similarly, 'British subjects' and 'subjects of King George V' refer to the same individuals, named differently based on the person of the Crown and the Imperial Government, respectively. These logical equations are essentially identities in meaning; they are fully demonstrated by the relationships of circles discussed in the previous section.
When we are told that logical propositions are to be considered as equations, we naturally expect to be shown some interesting developments of method in analogy with the equations of Mathematics; but from Hamilton's innovations no such thing results. This cannot be said, however, of the equations of Symbolic Logic; which are the starting-point of very remarkable processes of ratiocination. As the subject of Symbolic Logic, as a whole, lies beyond the compass of this work, it will be enough to give Dr. Venn's equations corresponding with the four propositional forms of common Logic.
When we hear that logical propositions should be viewed as equations, we naturally expect to see some intriguing methods similar to those in Mathematics. However, Hamilton's innovations don't lead to that. This isn't the case for the equations of Symbolic Logic, which serve as the foundation for some remarkable reasoning processes. Since the topic of Symbolic Logic as a whole is beyond the scope of this work, it's sufficient to present Dr. Venn's equations that correspond to the four propositional forms of standard Logic.
According to this system, universal propositions are to be regarded as not necessarily implying the existence of their terms; and therefore, instead of giving them a positive form, they are translated into symbols that express what they deny. For example, the proposition All devils are ugly need not imply that any such things as 'devils' really exist; but it certainly does imply that Devils that are not ugly do [Pg 103]not exist. Similarly, the proposition No angels are ugly implies that Angels that are ugly do not exist. Therefore, writing x for 'devils,' y for 'ugly,' and ȳ for 'not-ugly,' we may express A., the universal affirmative, thus:
According to this system, universal statements aren't necessarily taken to mean that the things they mention actually exist; instead of framing them positively, we translate them into symbols that indicate what they deny. For instance, the statement All devils are ugly doesn't have to suggest that entities called 'devils' really exist; however, it does imply that Devils that are not ugly do [Pg 103]not exist. Similarly, the statement No angels are ugly implies that Angels that are ugly do not exist. So, if we let x represent 'devils,' y for 'ugly,' and ȳ for 'not-ugly,' we can express A., the universal affirmative, like this:
That is, x that is not y is nothing; or, Devils that are not-ugly do not exist. And, similarly, writing x for 'angels' and y for 'ugly,' we may express E., the universal negative, thus:
That is, x that is not y is nothing; or, Devils that are not ugly do not exist. And, in the same way, if we use x for 'angels' and y for 'ugly,' we can express E., the universal negative, like this:
That is, x that is y is nothing; or, Angels that are ugly do not exist.
That is, x that is y is nothing; or, Ugly angels don’t exist.
On the other hand, particular propositions are regarded as implying the existence of their terms, and the corresponding equations are so framed as to express existence. With this end in view, the symbol v is adopted to represent 'something,' or indeterminate reality, or more than nothing. Then, taking any particular affirmative, such as Some metaphysicians are obscure, and writing x for 'metaphysicians,' and y for 'obscure,' we may express it thus:
On the other hand, specific statements are seen as suggesting that their terms exist, and the related equations are designed to express existence. To achieve this, the symbol v is used to represent 'something,' or uncertain reality, or more than nothing. Then, taking any specific affirmative, like Some metaphysicians are obscure, and using x for 'metaphysicians,' and y for 'obscure,' we can express it like this:
That is, x that is y is something; or, Metaphysicians that are obscure do occur in experience (however few they may be, or whether they all be obscure). And, similarly, taking any particular negative, such as Some giants are not cruel, and writing x for 'giants' and y for 'not-cruel,' we may express it thus:
That is, x that is y is something; or, Obscure metaphysicians do exist in experience (no matter how few they are, or if they are all obscure). Similarly, if we take a specific negative, like Some giants are not cruel, and use x for 'giants' and y for 'not-cruel,' we can express it like this:
That is, x that is not y is something; or, giants that are not-cruel do occur—in romances, if nowhere else.
That is, x that isn't y is something; or, giants that aren't cruel do exist—in stories, if nowhere else.
Clearly, these equations are, like Hamilton's, concerned with denotation. A. and E. affirm that the compound terms xȳ and xy have no denotation; and I. and O. declare that xȳ and xy have denotation, or stand for something. Here, however, the resemblance to Hamilton's system [Pg 104]ceases; for the Symbolic Logic, by operating upon more than two terms simultaneously, by adopting the algebraic signs of operations, +,-, ×, ÷ (with a special signification), and manipulating the symbols by quasi-algebraic processes, obtains results which the common Logic reaches (if at all) with much greater difficulty. If, indeed, the value of logical systems were to be judged of by the results obtainable, formal deductive Logic would probably be superseded. And, as a mental discipline, there is much to be said in favour of the symbolic method. But, as an introduction to philosophy, the common Logic must hold its ground. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 7.)
Clearly, these equations are, like Hamilton's, focused on meaning. A. and E. state that the combined terms xȳ and xy have no meaning; and I. and O. assert that xȳ and xy do have meaning, or represent something. However, the similarity to Hamilton's system [Pg 104]ends here; for Symbolic Logic, by working with more than two terms at once, by using the algebraic operation symbols +, -, ×, ÷ (with specific meanings), and by manipulating the symbols through quasi-algebraic methods, achieves results that common Logic reaches (if at all) with much more difficulty. If the value of logical systems were determined by the results they produce, formal deductive Logic would likely be replaced. And, as a mental exercise, there are many advantages to the symbolic method. But, as an introduction to philosophy, common Logic must still maintain its place. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 7.)
In the first place, Logic treats primarily of the relations implied in propositions. This follows from its being the science of proof for all sorts of (qualitative) propositions; since all sorts of propositions have nothing in common except the relations they express.
In the first place, Logic mainly deals with the relationships found in propositions. This comes from its role as the science of proof for all kinds of (qualitative) propositions; since all kinds of propositions share nothing in common except the relationships they convey.
But, secondly, relations without terms of some sort are not to be thought of; and, hence, even the most formal illustrations of logical doctrines comprise such terms as S and P, X and Y, or x and y, in a symbolic or representative character. Terms, therefore, of some sort are assumed to exist (together with their negatives or contradictories) for the purposes of logical manipulation.
But, secondly, relationships without some kind of terms are not possible; therefore, even the most formal examples of logical principles include terms like S and P, X and Y, or x and y, in a symbolic or representative way. So, some sort of terms are assumed to exist (along with their negatives or contradictories) for the purposes of logical manipulation.
Thirdly, however, that Formal Logic cannot as such directly involve the existence of any particular concrete terms, such as 'man' or 'mountain,' used by way of illustration, is implied in the word 'formal,' that is, 'confined to what is common or abstract'; since the only thing common to all terms is to be related in some way to other terms. The actual existence of any concrete thing can only be known by experience, as with 'man' or 'mountain'; or by methodically justifiable inference from experience, as with 'atom' or 'ether.' If 'man' or 'mountain,' or[Pg 105] 'Cuzco' be used to illustrate logical forms, they bring with them an existential import derived from experience; but this is the import of language, not of the logical forms. 'Centaur' and 'El Dorado' signify to us the non-existent; but they serve as well as 'man' and 'London' to illustrate Formal Logic.
Thirdly, however, Formal Logic cannot directly involve the existence of any specific concrete terms, like 'man' or 'mountain,' which are used for illustration. This is suggested by the word 'formal,' meaning 'limited to what is common or abstract'; because the only thing that all terms have in common is that they relate to other terms in some way. The actual existence of any concrete thing can only be known through experience, like with 'man' or 'mountain'; or by logically supported inference from experience, like with 'atom' or 'ether.' If 'man' or 'mountain,' or 'Cuzco' are used to illustrate logical forms, they carry with them an existential meaning derived from experience; but this is a feature of language, not of the logical forms themselves. 'Centaur' and 'El Dorado' refer to things that don't exist; yet they can serve just as well as 'man' and 'London' to illustrate Formal Logic.
Nevertheless, fourthly, the existence or non-existence of particular terms may come to be implied: namely, wherever the very fact of existence, or of some condition of existence, is an hypothesis or datum. Thus, given the proposition All S is P, to be P is made a condition of the existence of S: whence it follows that an S that is not P does not exist (xȳ = 0). On the further hypothesis that S exists, it follows that P exists. On the hypothesis that S does not exist, the existence of P is problematic; but, then, if P does exist we cannot convert the proposition; since Some P is S (P existing) would involve the existence of S; which is contrary to the hypothesis.
Nevertheless, fourthly, the existence or non-existence of specific terms may be implied: that is, whenever the very fact of existence, or a certain condition of existence, is an assumption or given. So, given the statement All S is P, being P is made a condition for the existence of S: from this, it follows that an S that is not P does not exist (xȳ = 0). If we assume that S exists, it follows that P exists too. If we assume that S does not exist, the existence of P becomes questionable; however, if P does exist, we can't switch the statement around, since Some P is S (with P existing) would imply the existence of S, which contradicts the assumption.
Assuming that Universals do not, whilst Particulars do, imply the existence of their subjects, we cannot infer the subalternate (I. or O.) from the subalternans (A. or E.), for that is to ground the actual on the problematic; and for the same reason we cannot convert A. per accidens.
Assuming that Universals do not, while Particulars do, imply the existence of their subjects, we can't infer the subalternate (I. or O.) from the subalternans (A. or E.), because that would base the actual on the hypothetical; and for the same reason, we can't convert A. per accidens.
Assuming, again, a certain suppositio or universe, to which in a given discussion every argument shall refer, then, any propositions whose terms lie outside that suppositio are irrelevant, and for the purposes of that discussion are sometimes called "false"; though it seems better to call them irrelevant or meaningless, seeing that to call them false implies that they might in the same case be true. Thus propositions which, according to the doctrine of Opposition, appear to be Contradictories, may then cease to be so; for of Contradictories one is true and the other false; but, in the case supposed, both are meaningless. If the subject of discussion be Zoology, all propositions about centaurs or unicorns are absurd; and such specious[Pg 106] Contradictories as No centaurs play the lyre—Some centaurs do play the lyre; or All unicorns fight with lions—Some unicorns do not fight with lions, are both meaningless, because in Zoology there are no centaurs nor unicorns; and, therefore, in this reference, the propositions are not really contradictory. But if the subject of discussion or suppositio be Mythology or Heraldry, such propositions as the above are to the purpose, and form legitimate pairs of Contradictories.
Assuming again a specific context or universe that every argument in a discussion relates to, any statements whose terms fall outside that context are irrelevant. For the purposes of that discussion, they are sometimes referred to as "false"; however, it may be more accurate to call them irrelevant or meaningless, since labeling them false suggests they might also be true in the same context. Thus, propositions that, according to the doctrine of Opposition, seem to be contradictories may no longer be so; because with contradictories, one is true and the other is false; but in the assumed scenario, both are meaningless. If the discussion topic is Zoology, then all statements about centaurs or unicorns are absurd; and such seemingly contradictory statements as No centaurs play the lyre—Some centaurs do play the lyre; or All unicorns fight with lions—Some unicorns do not fight with lions, are both meaningless because, in Zoology, there are no centaurs or unicorns; and therefore, in this context, these propositions aren't truly contradictory. However, if the topic of discussion or context is Mythology or Heraldry, the aforementioned propositions are relevant and form valid pairs of contradictories.
In Formal Logic, in short, we may make at discretion any assumption whatever as to the existence, or as to any condition of the existence of any particular term or terms; and then certain implications and conclusions follow in consistency with that hypothesis or datum. Still, our conclusions will themselves be only hypothetical, depending on the truth of the datum; and, of course, until this is empirically ascertained, we are as far as ever from empirical reality. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 6; Keynes: Formal Logic, Part II. c. 7: cf. Wolf: Studies in Logic.)
In Formal Logic, briefly, we can freely make any assumption about the existence or any conditions related to the existence of specific terms; then certain implications and conclusions follow logically from that assumption or premise. However, our conclusions will only be hypothetical, depending on the accuracy of the premise; and, of course, until this is verified through observation, we remain far from actual reality. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 6; Keynes: Formal Logic, Part II. c. 7: cf. Wolf: Studies in Logic.)
CHAPTER IX
FORMAL CONDITIONS OF MEDIATE INFERENCE
§ 1. A Mediate Inference is a proposition that depends for proof upon two or more other propositions, so connected together by one or more terms (which the evidentiary propositions, or each pair of them, have in common) as to justify a certain conclusion, namely, the proposition in question. The type or (more properly) the unit of all such modes of proof, when of a strictly logical kind, is the Syllogism, to which we shall see that all other modes are reducible. It may be exhibited symbolically thus:
§ 1. A Mediate Inference is a statement that relies on proof from two or more other statements, connected by one or more common terms (which the evidentiary statements or each pairing of them share) to support a specific conclusion, which is the statement in question. The type or (more accurately) the basic unit of all these logical proof methods is the Syllogism, to which we'll see that all other methods can be reduced. It can be represented symbolically like this:
S is M: ∴ S is P.
Syllogisms may be classified, as to quantity, into Universal or Particular, according to the quantity of the conclusion; as to quality, into Affirmative or Negative, according to the quality of the conclusion; and, as to relation, into Categorical, Hypothetical and Disjunctive, according as all their propositions are categorical, or one (at least) of their evidentiary propositions is a hypothetical or a disjunctive.
Syllogisms can be categorized by quantity into Universal or Particular, based on the scope of the conclusion; by quality into Affirmative or Negative, based on the nature of the conclusion; and by relation into Categorical, Hypothetical, and Disjunctive, depending on whether all their propositions are categorical, or if at least one of their supporting propositions is hypothetical or disjunctive.
To begin with Categorical Syllogisms, of which the following is an example:
To start with Categorical Syllogisms, here’s an example:
Here we may suppose that there are no direct means of knowing that Cicero is vain; but we happen to know that [Pg 108]all authors are vain and that he is an author; and these two propositions, put together, unmistakably imply that he is vain. In other words, we do not at first know any relation between 'Cicero' and 'vanity'; but we know that these two terms are severally related to a third term, 'author,' hence called a Middle Term; and thus we perceive, by mediate evidence, that they are related to one another. This sort of proof bears an obvious resemblance (though the relations involved are not the same) to the mathematical proof of equality between two quantities, that cannot be directly compared, by showing the equality of each of them to some third quantity: A = B = C ∴ A = C. Here B is a middle term.
Here, we can assume that there’s no direct way to know that Cicero is vain; however, we know that [Pg 108]all authors are vain and that he is an author. These two statements together clearly imply that he is vain. In other words, we don’t initially see any connection between 'Cicero' and 'vanity'; but we do know that both of these terms relate to a third term, 'author,' which is called a Middle Term. Therefore, we can conclude, through indirect evidence, that they are connected. This type of proof is similar (even if the relationships aren’t the same) to the mathematical proof of equality between two quantities that can’t be directly compared, by showing their equality to a third quantity: A = B = C ∴ A = C. Here, B is the middle term.
We have to inquire, then, what conditions must be satisfied in order that a Syllogism may be formally conclusive or valid. A specious Syllogism that is not really valid is called a Parasyllogism.
We need to ask what conditions must be met for a Syllogism to be formally conclusive or valid. A misleading Syllogism that isn't actually valid is called a Parasyllogism.
(1) A Syllogism contains three, and no more, distinct propositions.
(1) A syllogism has three, and only three, separate propositions.
(2) A Syllogism contains three, and no more, distinct univocal terms.
(2) A syllogism has three, and only three, distinct univocal terms.
These two Canons imply one another. Three propositions with less than three terms can only be connected in some of the modes of Immediate Inference. Three propositions with more than three terms do not show that connection of two terms by means of a third, which is requisite for proving a Mediate Inference. If we write—
These two rules imply each other. Three statements with fewer than three terms can only be linked in some ways of Immediate Inference. Three statements with more than three terms do not demonstrate the connection of two terms through a third, which is necessary for proving a Mediate Inference. If we write—
there are four terms and no middle term, and therefore there is no proof. Or if we write—
there are four terms and no middle term, so there is no proof. Or if we write—
Cicero is a politician—
Cicero is self-absorbed—
this could not be called a bad argument or a material fallacy; but it would be a needless departure from the form of expression in which the connection between the evidence and the inference is most easily seen.
this can't be considered a bad argument or a significant fallacy; however, it would be an unnecessary shift from the way of expressing that makes the link between the evidence and the conclusion most clear.
Still, a mere adherence to the same form of words in the expression of terms is not enough: we must also attend to their meaning. For if the same word be used ambiguously (as 'author' now for 'father' and anon for 'man of letters'), it becomes as to its meaning two terms; so that we have four in all. Then, if the ambiguous term be the Middle, no connection is shown between the other two; if either of the others be ambiguous, something seems to be inferred which has never been really given in evidence.
Still, just sticking to the same wording in expressing terms isn’t enough: we also need to consider their meaning. If the same word is used in different ways (like 'author' sometimes meaning 'father' and other times meaning 'writer'), it effectively creates two meanings; so we end up with four in total. If the ambiguous term is the middle one, there’s no clear link between the other two; if either of the others is ambiguous, it suggests something that hasn’t actually been proven.
The above two Canons are, indeed, involved in the definition of a categorical syllogism, which may be thus stated: A Categorical Syllogism is a form of proof or reasoning (way of giving reasons) in which one categorical proposition is established by comparing two others that contain together only three terms, or that have one and only one term in common.
The two Canons mentioned above are really important for defining a categorical syllogism, which can be explained like this: A Categorical Syllogism is a type of reasoning where one categorical statement is proven by comparing two other statements that together only include three terms, or that share just one term.
The proposition established, derived, or inferred, is called the Conclusion: the evidentiary propositions by which it is proved are called the Premises.
The established, derived, or inferred statement is called the Conclusion: the evidential statements that support it are called the Premises.
The term common to the premises, by means of which the other terms are compared, is called the Middle Term; the subject of the conclusion is called the Minor Term; the predicate of the conclusion, the Major Term.
The term used in the premises to compare the other terms is called the Middle Term; the subject of the conclusion is known as the Minor Term; and the predicate of the conclusion is referred to as the Major Term.
Minor Premise—Cicero (Minor) is a writer (Middle):
Conclusion—∴ Cicero (Minor) is arrogant (Major).
Here we have three propositions with three terms, each term occurring twice. The minor and major terms are so called, because, when the conclusion is an universal affirmative (which only occurs in Barbara; see chap. x. § 6), its subject and predicate are respectively the less and the greater in extent or denotation; and the premises are called after the peculiar terms they contain: the expressions 'major premise' and 'minor premise' have nothing to do with the order in which the premises are presented; though it is usual to place the major premise first.
Here we have three statements with three terms, and each term appears twice. The minor and major terms are named as such because when the conclusion is a universal affirmative (which only happens in Barbara; see chap. x. § 6), its subject and predicate are respectively the lesser and the greater in scope or meaning. The premises are named after the specific terms they include: the terms 'major premise' and 'minor premise' are not related to the order in which the premises are shown; however, it's common to place the major premise first.
(3) No term must be distributed in the conclusion unless it is distributed in the premises.
(3) No term can be distributed in the conclusion unless it is distributed in the premises.
It is usual to give this as one of the General Canons of the Syllogism; but we have seen (chap. vi. § 6) that it is of wider application. Indeed, 'not to go beyond the evidence' belongs to the definition of formal proof. A breech of this rule in a syllogism is the fallacy of Illicit Process of the Minor, or of the Major, according to which term has been unwarrantably distributed. The following parasyllogism illicitly distributes both terms of the conclusion:
It’s common to present this as one of the General Canons of the Syllogism; however, we’ve seen (chap. vi. § 6) that it applies more broadly. In fact, "not going beyond the evidence" is part of what defines formal proof. Breaking this rule in a syllogism leads to the fallacy of Illicit Process of the Minor or Major, depending on which term has been improperly distributed. The following parasyllogism illicitly distributes both terms of the conclusion:
No speakers are pathetic.
(4) The Middle Term must be distributed at least once in the premises (in order to prove a conclusion in the given terms).
(4) The Middle Term has to be represented at least once in the premises (to prove a conclusion in the specified terms).
For the use of mediate evidence is to show the relation of terms that cannot be directly compared; this is only possible if the middle term furnishes the ground of com[Pg 111]parison; and this (in Logic) requires that the whole denotation of the middle should be either included or excluded by one of the other terms; since if we only know that the other terms are related to some of the middle, their respective relations may not be with the same part of it.
The purpose of using mediating evidence is to show the relationship between terms that cannot be directly compared; this is only possible if the middle term provides a basis for comparison. In logic, this requires that the entire range of the middle term be either included or excluded by one of the other terms. If we only know that the other terms relate to some part of the middle term, their respective relationships may not correspond to the same segment of it.[Pg 111]
It is true that in what has been called the "numerically definite syllogism," an inference may be drawn, though our canon seems to be violated. Thus:
It is true that in what has been called the "numerically definite syllogism," an inference can be made, even if it seems to break our rule. So:
∴ at least 20 out of 100 blackfaced sheep have horns.
But such an argument, though it may be correct Arithmetic, is not Logic at all; and when such numerical evidence is obtainable the comparatively indefinite arguments of Logic are needless. Another apparent exception is the following:
But while this argument might be accurate in terms of math, it doesn't hold up in Logic at all; and when such numerical evidence is available, the relatively vague arguments of Logic become unnecessary. Another apparent exception is the following:
Most men are somewhat rational:
∴ Some semi-rational things are 5 feet tall.
Here the Middle Term (men) is distributed in neither premise, yet the indisputable conclusion is a logical proposition. The premises, however, are really arithmetical; for 'most' means 'more than half,' or more than 50 per cent.
Here, the Middle Term (men) isn't distributed in either premise, yet the undeniable conclusion is a logical statement. The premises, however, are actually numerical; because 'most' means 'more than half,' or over 50 percent.
Still, another apparent exception is entirely logical. Suppose we are given, the premises—All P is M, and All S is M—the middle term is undistributed. But take the obverse of the contrapositive of both premises:
Still, another obvious exception makes complete sense. Let’s say we have the premises—All P is M, and All S is M—the middle term is not fully utilized. But let's consider the opposite of the contrapositive of both premises:
Here we have a conclusion legitimately obtained; but it is not in the terms originally given.
Here we have a conclusion that has been legitimately reached; however, it is not in the terms that were originally stated.
For Mediate Inference depending on truly logical pre[Pg 112]mises, then, it is necessary that one premise should distribute the middle term; and the reason of this may be illustrated even by the above supposed numerical exceptions. For in them the premises are such that, though neither of the two premises by itself distributes the Middle, yet they always overlap upon it. If each premise dealt with exactly half the Middle, thus barely distributing it between them, there would be no logical proposition inferrible. We require that the middle term, as used in one premise, should necessarily overlap the same term as used in the other, so as to furnish common ground for comparing the other terms. Hence I have defined the middle term as 'that term common to both premises by means of which the other terms are compared.'
For Mediate Inference to rely on truly logical premises, one premise must define the middle term. This can be explained even by the previously mentioned numerical exceptions. In those cases, the premises are such that, although neither premise alone defines the Middle, they always connect on it. If each premise only handled exactly half of the Middle, merely dividing it between them, no logical conclusion could be drawn. We need the middle term used in one premise to necessarily connect with the same term in the other, providing a basis for comparing the other terms. Therefore, I have defined the middle term as 'that term common to both premises that allows the comparison of the other terms.'
(5) One at least of the premises must be affirmative; or, from two negative premises nothing can be inferred (in the given terms).
(5) At least one of the premises must be affirmative; otherwise, nothing can be inferred from two negative premises (in the given terms).
The fourth Canon required that the middle term should be given distributed, or in its whole extent, at least once, in order to afford sure ground of comparison for the others. But that such comparison may be effected, something more is requisite; the relation of the other terms to the Middle must be of a certain character. One at least of them must be, as to its extent or denotation, partially or wholly identified with the Middle; so that to that extent it may be known to bear to the other term, whatever relation we are told that so much of the Middle bears to that other term. Now, identity of denotation can only be predicated in an affirmative proposition: one premise, then, must be affirmative.
The fourth Canon stated that the middle term must be fully included at least once to provide a solid basis for comparing the other terms. However, to make this comparison possible, something more is needed; the relationship of the other terms to the Middle must have a specific quality. At least one of them must, in terms of its extent or meaning, be partially or completely associated with the Middle so that it can be understood how it relates to the other term, based on the relationship that is stated for that portion of the Middle. Now, we can only assert identity of meaning in an affirmative statement: therefore, one of the premises must be affirmative.
If both premises are negative, we only know that both the other terms are partly or wholly excluded from the Middle, or are not identical with it in denotation: where they lie, then, in relation to one another we have no means of knowing. Similarly, in the mediate comparison of quantities, if we are told that A and C are both of them [Pg 113]unequal to B, we can infer nothing as to the relation of C to A. Hence the premises—
If both premises are negative, we only know that the other terms are either partially or completely excluded from the Middle, or aren’t the same as it in meaning. We have no way to determine how they relate to each other. Similarly, when comparing quantities indirectly, if we learn that both A and C are unequal to B, we can’t infer anything about the relationship between C and A. Therefore, the premises—
however suggestive, do not formally justify us in inferring any connection between sobriety and independence. Formally to draw a conclusion, we must have affirmative grounds, such as in this case we may obtain by obverting both premises:
however suggestive, do not formally justify us in inferring any connection between sobriety and independence. To formally draw a conclusion, we need strong evidence, like in this case where we can get it by reversing both premises:
∴ Some people who aren’t independent are also not sober.
But this conclusion is not in the given terms.
But this conclusion isn't stated in those terms.
(6) (a) If one premise be negative, the conclusion must be negative: and (b) to prove a negative conclusion, one premise must be negative.
(6) (a) If one premise is negative, the conclusion must be negative; and (b) to prove a negative conclusion, one premise must be negative.
(a) For we have seen that one premise must be affirmative, and that thus one term must be partly (at least) identified with the Middle. If, then, the other premise, being negative, predicates the exclusion of the remaining term from the Middle, this remaining term must be excluded from the first term, so far as we know the first to be identical with the Middle: and this exclusion will be expressed by a negative conclusion. The analogy of the mediate comparison of quantities may here again be noticed: if A is equal to B, and B is unequal to C, A is unequal to C.
(a) We have found that one premise has to be affirmative, which means that at least one term must have some connection with the Middle. If the other premise is negative and states that the remaining term cannot be part of the Middle, then this remaining term must also be excluded from the first term, since we understand the first term to be connected to the Middle. This exclusion will lead to a negative conclusion. We can also draw an analogy from comparing quantities: if A equals B and B does not equal C, then A does not equal C.
(b) If both premises be affirmative, the relations to the Middle of both the other terms are more or less inclusive, and therefore furnish no ground for an exclusive inference. This also follows from the function of the middle term.
(b) If both statements are positive, the connections to the middle term of the other terms are more or less inclusive, and so they don't provide a basis for a definitive conclusion. This also results from the role of the middle term.
For the more convenient application of these canons to the testing of syllogisms, it is usual to derive from them three Corollaries:
For easier use of these rules when testing syllogisms, it's common to draw three Corollaries from them:
(i) Two particular premises yield no conclusion.
(i) Two specific premises lead to no conclusion.
For if both premises be affirmative, all their terms are undistributed, the subjects by predesignation, the predicates by position; and therefore the middle term must be undistributed, and there can be no conclusion.
For if both premises are affirmative, all their terms are undistributed, the subjects by predesignation and the predicates by position; so the middle term must be undistributed, and there can be no conclusion.
If one premise be negative, its predicate is distributed by position: the other terms remaining undistributed. But, by Canon 6, the conclusion (if any be possible) must be negative; and therefore its predicate, the major term, will be distributed. In the premises, therefore, both the middle and the major terms should be distributed, which is impossible: e.g.,
If one premise is negative, its predicate is distributed based on its position: the other terms stay undistributed. However, according to Canon 6, the conclusion (if it's possible) must be negative; and so its predicate, the major term, will be distributed. Therefore, in the premises, both the middle and the major terms need to be distributed, which is impossible: e.g.,
Some S is M: ∴ Some S is not P.
Here, indeed, the major term is legitimately distributed (though the negative premise might have been the minor); but M, the middle term, is distributed in neither premise, and therefore there can be no conclusion.
Here, the main term is properly distributed (even though the negative premise could have been the minor); however, M, the middle term, is not distributed in either premise, so there can be no conclusion.
Still, an exception may be made by admitting a bi-designate conclusion:
Still, an exception can be made by allowing a bi-designate conclusion:
(ii) If one premise be particular, so is the conclusion.
(ii) If one premise is specific, then the conclusion is too.
For, again, if both premises be affirmative, they only distribute one term, the subject of the universal premise, and this must be the middle term. The minor term, therefore, is undistributed, and the conclusion must be particular.
For, again, if both premises are affirmative, they only distribute one term, which is the subject of the universal premise, and this must be the middle term. Therefore, the minor term is undistributed, and the conclusion must be particular.
If one premise be negative, the two premises together can distribute only two terms, the subject of the universal and the predicate of the negative (which may be the same premise). One of these terms must be the middle; the other (since the conclusion is negative) must be the major. The minor term, therefore, is undistributed, and the conclusion must be particular.
If one statement is negative, the two statements together can only cover two terms: the subject of the universal and the predicate of the negative (which can be the same statement). One of these terms has to be the middle term; the other one (since the conclusion is negative) has to be the major term. Therefore, the minor term is not fully covered, and the conclusion has to be particular.
(iii) From a particular major and a negative minor premise nothing can be inferred.
(iii) You can't draw any conclusions from a specific major premise and a negative minor premise.
For the minor premise being negative, the major premise must be affirmative (5th Canon); and therefore, being particular, distributes the major term neither in its subject nor in its predicate. But since the conclusion must be negative (6th Canon), a distributed major term is demanded, e.g.,
For the minor premise being negative, the major premise has to be affirmative (5th Canon); and since it's particular, it doesn't distribute the major term in either its subject or its predicate. However, since the conclusion needs to be negative (6th Canon), a distributed major term is required, e.g.,
Here the minor and the middle terms are both distributed, but not the major (P); and, therefore, a negative conclusion is impossible.
Here, both the minor and middle terms are distributed, but not the major (P); therefore, a negative conclusion is impossible.
§ 3. First Principle or Axiom of the Syllogism.—Hitherto in this chapter we have been analysing the conditions of valid mediate inference. We have seen that a single step of such inference, a Syllogism, contains, when fully expressed in language, three propositions and three terms, and that these terms must stand to one another in the relations required by the fourth, fifth, and sixth Canons. We now come to a principle which conveniently sums up these conditions; it is called the Dictum de omni et nullo, and may be stated thus:
§ 3. First Principle or Axiom of the Syllogism.—So far in this chapter, we have been analyzing the requirements for valid indirect reasoning. We have observed that a single step of this reasoning, a Syllogism, includes, when fully articulated, three statements and three terms, and that these terms must relate to each other according to the rules outlined in the fourth, fifth, and sixth Canons. We now arrive at a principle that conveniently captures these requirements; it is called the Dictum de omni et nullo, and can be expressed as follows:
Whatever is predicated (affirmatively or negatively) of a term distributed,
Whatever is said (positively or negatively) about a distributed term,
With which term another term can be (partly or wholly) identified,
With which term another term can be (partly or completely) identified,
May be predicated in like manner (affirmatively or negatively) of the latter term (or part of it).
May also be stated in the same way (either positively or negatively) about the latter term (or part of it).
Thus stated (nearly as by Whately in the introduction to his Logic) the Dictum follows line by line the course of a Syllogism in the First Figure (see chap. x. § 2). To return to our former example: All authors are vain is the same as—Vanity is predicated of all authors; Cicero is an author is the same as—Cicero is identified as an author; therefore[Pg 116] Cicero is vain, or—Vanity may be predicated of Cicero. The Dictum then requires: (1) three propositions; (2) three terms; (3) that the middle term be distributed; (4) that one premise be affirmative, since only by an affirmative proposition can one term be identified with another; (5) that if one premise be negative the conclusion shall be so too, since whatever is predicated of the middle term is predicated in like manner of the minor.
Thus stated (almost as Whately does in the introduction to his Logic), the Dictum follows step by step the structure of a Syllogism in the First Figure (see chap. x. § 2). To go back to our earlier example: All authors are vain means the same as—Vanity applies to all authors; Cicero is an author means the same as—Cicero is recognized as an author; therefore[Pg 116] Cicero is vain, or—Vanity applies to Cicero. The Dictum then requires: (1) three propositions; (2) three terms; (3) that the middle term be distributed; (4) that one premise be affirmative, since only an affirmative proposition can link one term to another; (5) that if one premise is negative, the conclusion must be so too, since whatever is said of the middle term is also said in the same way of the minor.
Thus far, then, the Dictum is wholly analytic or verbal, expressing no more than is implied in the definitions of 'Syllogism' and 'Middle Term'; since (as we have seen) all the General Canons (except the third, which is a still more general condition of formal proof) are derivable from those definitions. However, the Dictum makes a further statement of a synthetic or real character, namely, that when these conditions are fulfilled an inference is justified; that then the major and minor terms are brought into comparison through the middle, and that the major term may be predicated affirmatively or negatively of all or part of the minor. It is this real assertion that justifies us in calling the Dictum an Axiom.
So far, the Dictum is entirely analytical or verbal, conveying nothing more than what's included in the definitions of 'Syllogism' and 'Middle Term'; since (as we've observed) all the General Canons (except the third, which is an even broader condition of formal proof) can be derived from those definitions. However, the Dictum also makes an additional statement that's synthetic or substantive, specifically that when these conditions are met, an inference is justified; that at that point, the major and minor terms are compared through the middle term, and that the major term can be affirmed or denied about all or part of the minor term. This significant statement is what allows us to refer to the Dictum as an Axiom.
All pugs are pets:
All pugs are awesome.
Here (an ingenious man might urge), having once identified pugs with domestic animals, that they are useful follows from the Law of Identity. If we attend to the meaning, and remember that what is true in one form of words is true in any other form, then, all domestic animals being useful, of course pugs are. It is merely a case of subalternation: we may put it in this way:
Here (someone clever might argue), once we recognize that pugs are domestic animals, it logically follows that they are useful based on the Law of Identity. If we focus on the meaning and remember that what is true in one way of expressing it holds true in any other way, then since all domestic animals are useful, pugs are too. It's simply a matter of subalternation: we can put it like this:
Some domestic animals (e.g., pugs) are beneficial.
The derivation of negative syllogisms from the Law of Contradiction (he might add) may be shown in a similar manner.
The derivation of negative syllogisms from the Law of Contradiction (he might add) can be demonstrated in a similar way.
But the force of this ingenious argument depends on the participial clause—'having once identified pugs with domestic animals.' If this is a distinct step of the reasoning, the above syllogism cannot be reduced to one step, cannot be exhibited as mere subalternation, nor be brought directly under the law of Identity. If 'pug,' 'domestic,' and 'useful' are distinct terms; and if 'pug' and 'useful' are only known to be connected because of their relations to 'domestic': this is something more than the Laws of Thought provide for: it is not Immediate Inference, but Mediate; and to justify it, scientific method requires that its conditions be generalised. The Dictum, then, as we have seen, does generalise these conditions, and declares that when such conditions are satisfied a Mediate Inference is valid.
But the strength of this clever argument relies on the participial clause—'having once identified pugs with domestic animals.' If this is a separate step in the reasoning, then the syllogism above can't be simplified to one step, can't be presented as just a subalternation, nor can it be directly categorized under the law of Identity. If 'pug,' 'domestic,' and 'useful' are different terms; and if 'pug' and 'useful' are only understood to be connected through their relationship to 'domestic': this goes beyond what the Laws of Thought account for: it isn't Immediate Inference, but Mediate; and to support it, the scientific method requires that its conditions be generalized. The Dictum, as we have discussed, does generalize these conditions and states that when such conditions are met, a Mediate Inference is considered valid.
But, after all (to go back a little), consider again that proposition All pugs are domestic animals: is it a distinct step of the reasoning; that is to say, is it a Real Proposition? If, indeed, 'domestic' is no part of the definition of 'pug,' the proposition is real, and is a distinct part of the argument. But take such a case as this:
But, after all (to revisit this a bit), think again about that statement All pugs are domestic animals: is it a separate step in the reasoning; that is, is it a Real Proposition? If, in fact, 'domestic' isn’t part of the definition of 'pug,' then the proposition is real and represents a distinct part of the argument. But consider a situation like this:
Here we clearly have, in the minor premise, only a verbal proposition; to be a dog is certainly part of the definition of 'pug.' But, if so, the inference 'All pugs are useful' involves no real mediation, and the argument is no more than this:
Here we clearly have, in the minor premise, only a verbal statement; being a dog is definitely part of the definition of 'pug.' But if that's the case, the conclusion 'All pugs are useful' doesn’t involve any real reasoning, and the argument is just this:
Similarly, if the major premise be verbal, thus:
Similarly, if the main premise is expressed in words, like this:
Hence we may conclude (as anticipated in chap. vii. § 3) that 'any apparent syllogism, having one premise a verbal proposition, is really an Immediate Inference'; but that, if both premises are real propositions, the Inference is Mediate, and demands for its explanation something more than the Laws of Thought.
Hence we can conclude (as mentioned in chap. vii. § 3) that 'any apparent syllogism, with one premise being a verbal proposition, is actually an Immediate Inference'; however, if both premises are real propositions, the Inference is Mediate and requires something beyond just the Laws of Thought for its explanation.
The fact is that to prove the minor to be a case of the middle term may be an exceedingly difficult operation (chap. xiii. § 7). The difficulty is disguised by ordinary examples, used for the sake of convenience.
The truth is that proving the minor is a case of the middle term can be a really tough task (chap. xiii. § 7). This difficulty is hidden by typical examples, which are used for convenience’s sake.
Here, according to the usual logical analysis, there are strictly four terms—(1) A, (2) equal to B, (3) B, (4) equal to C.
Here, based on the standard logical analysis, there are exactly four terms—(1) A, (2) equal to B, (3) B, (4) equal to C.
Similarly with the argument a fortiori,
Similarly with the argument a fortiori,
This also is said to contain four terms: (1) A, (2) greater than B, (3) B, (4) greater than C. Such inferences are nevertheless intuitively sound, may be verified by trial (within the limits of sense-perception), and are generalised in appropriate axioms of their own, corresponding to the Dictum of the syllogism; as 'Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another,' etc.
This is also known to include four terms: (1) A, (2) greater than B, (3) B, (4) greater than C. These inferences are still intuitively valid, can be tested (within the boundaries of what we can perceive), and are generalized in their own relevant axioms, similar to the Dictum of the syllogism; for example, 'Things equal to the same thing are equal to each other,' etc.
Now, surely, this is an erroneous application of the usual logical analysis of propositions. Both Logic and Mathematics treat of the relations of terms; but whilst Mathematics employs the sign = for only one kind of relation, and for that relation exclusive of the terms; Logic employs [Pg 119]the same signs (is or is not) for all relations, recognising only a difference of quality in predication, and treating every other difference of relation as belonging to one of the terms related. Thus Logicians read A—is—equal to B: as if equal to B could possibly be a term co-relative with A. Whence it follows that the argument A = B = C ∴ A = C contains four terms; though everybody sees that there are only three.
Now, this is definitely a wrong application of the standard logical analysis of propositions. Both Logic and Mathematics discuss the relationships between terms; however, Mathematics uses the symbol = for just one type of relationship, and that relationship is considered separately from the terms involved. In contrast, Logic uses the same signs (is or is not) for all relationships, noting only a difference in quality of predication and treating any other difference in relationship as connected to one of the related terms. Therefore, Logicians interpret A—is—equal to B as if equal to B could actually be a term that correlates with A. This leads to the conclusion that the argument A = B = C ∴ A = C has four terms, even though everyone recognizes that there are only three.
In fact (as observed in chap. ii. § 2) the sign of logical relation (is or is not), whilst usually adequate for class-reasoning (coinherence) and sometimes extensible to causation (because a cause implies a class of events), should never be stretched to include other relations in such a way as to sacrifice intelligence to formalism. And, besides mathematical or quantitative relations, there are others (usually considered qualitative because indefinite) which cannot be justly expressed by the logical copula. We ought to read propositions expressing time-relations (and inferences drawn accordingly) thus:
In fact (as mentioned in chap. ii. § 2), the signs of logical relation (is or is not), while often suitable for class reasoning (coinherence) and sometimes applicable to causation (since a cause implies a group of events), should never be overextended to include other relations in a way that compromises understanding for the sake of formality. Additionally, beyond mathematical or quantitative relations, there are others (often seen as qualitative because they are indefinite) that cannot accurately be conveyed by the logical copula. We should interpret propositions that express time relations (and the conclusions drawn from them) like this:
∴ A comes before C.
And in like manner A—is simultaneous with—B; etc. Such arguments (as well as the mathematical) are intuitively sound and verifiable, and might be generalised in axioms if it were worth while: but it is not, because no method could be founded on such axioms.
And similarly, A—is simultaneous with—B; etc. These arguments (along with the mathematical ones) make intuitive sense and can be verified, and they could be generalized into axioms if it were worthwhile: but it isn't, because no method could be based on such axioms.
The customary use of relative terms justifies some Mediate Inferences, as, The father of a father is a grand-father.
The usual use of relative terms supports some Mediate Inferences, like, The father of a father is a grandfather.
Some cases, however, that at first seem obvious, are really delusive unless further data be supplied. Thus A co-exists with B, B with C; ∴ A with C—is not sound unless B is an instantaneous event; for where B is perdurable, A may co-exist with it at one time and C at another.
Some situations, however, that initially seem clear, are actually misleading unless more information is provided. So, A co-exists with B, B with C; ∴ A with C—is not valid unless B is an immediate event; because if B is lasting, A could co-exist with it at one point and with C at another.
Again: A is to the left of B, B of C; ∴ A of C. This may [Pg 120]pass; but it is not a parallel argument that if A is north of B and B west of C, then A is north-west of C: for suppose that A is a mile to the north of B, and B a yard to the west of C, then A is practically north of C; at least, its westward position cannot be expressed in terms of the mariner's compass. In such a case we require to know not only the directions but the distances of A and C from B; and then the exact direction of A from C is an affair of mathematical calculation.
Again: A is to the left of B, B is to the left of C; ∴ A is to the left of C. This might [Pg 120]pass; but it is not a similar argument that if A is north of B and B is west of C, then A is northwest of C: because if A is a mile north of B, and B is a yard west of C, then A is basically north of C; at least, its position to the west can't be described using the mariner's compass. In such a case, we need to know not just the directions but also the distances of A and C from B; and then the accurate direction of A from C requires mathematical calculation.
Qualitative reasoning concerning position is only applicable to things in one dimension of space, or in time considered as having one dimension. Under these conditions we may frame the following generalisation concerning all Mediate Inferences: Two terms definitely related to a third, and one of them positively, are related to one another as the other term is related to the third (that is, positively or negatively); provided that the relations given are of the same kind (that is, of Time, or Coinherence, or Likeness, or Equality).
Qualitative reasoning about position applies only to things in one dimension of space, or in time viewed as having one dimension. Under these circumstances, we can make the following generalization about all Mediate Inferences: If two terms are definitely related to a third term, and one of them has a positive relationship, then the two terms are related to each other in the same way the other term is related to the third (either positively or negatively); as long as the given relations are of the same type (that is, of Time, Coinherence, Likeness, or Equality).
Thus, to illustrate by relations of Time—
Thus, to illustrate through relationships of time—
∴ A does not happen at the same time as C.
Here the relations are of the same kind but of different logical quality, and (as in the syllogism) a negative copula in the premises leads to a negative conclusion.
Here the relationships are the same type but differ in logical quality, and (like in the syllogism) a negative connection in the premises results in a negative conclusion.
An examination in detail of particular cases would show that the above generalisation concerning all Mediate Inferences is subject to too many qualifications to be called an Axiom; it stands to the real Axioms (the Dictum, etc.) as the notion of the Uniformity of Nature does to the definite principles of natural order (cf. chap. xiii. § 8).
A detailed look at specific cases would reveal that the generalization about all Mediate Inferences has too many exceptions to be considered an Axiom; it relates to the actual Axioms (the Dictum, etc.) in the same way that the idea of the Uniformity of Nature relates to the specific principles of natural order (cf. chap. xiii. § 8).
CHAPTER X
CATEGORICAL SYLLOGISMS
Cats are carnivores: ∴ Cats (S) get excited (P).
In this example P is predicated of M, a term distributed; in which term, M, S is given as included; so that P may be predicated of S.
In this example, P is associated with M, which is a distributed term; in that term, M, S is included; therefore, P can be associated with S.
Many arguments, however, are of a type superficially different from the above: as—
Many arguments, however, are of a type that seems superficially different from the above: as—
Balbus (S) fears death (M):
∴ Balbus (S) is not a wise person (P).
In this example, instead of P being predicated of M, M is predicated of P, and yet S is given as included not in P, but in M. The divergence of such a syllogism from the Dictum may, however, be easily shown to be superficial by writing, instead of No wise man fears death, the simple, converse, No man who fears death is wise.
In this example, instead of P being described as a characteristic of M, M is described as a characteristic of P, and yet S is included not in P, but in M. The difference of this syllogism from the Dictum can, however, be easily shown to be superficial by rewriting No wise man fears death as the straightforward converse, No man who fears death is wise.
Again:
Again:
All dogs (M) are carnivores (S):
Some carnivores (S) are friendly to humans (P).
Here P is predicated of M undistributed; and instead of S being included in M, M is included in S: so that the divergence from the type of syllogism to which the Dictum[Pg 122] directly applies is still greater than in the former case. But if we transpose the premises, taking first
Here, P is said to apply to M without being all-encompassing; and instead of S being part of M, M is part of S. This means that the deviation from the type of syllogism that the Dictum[Pg 122] directly relates to is even more significant than in the previous situation. However, if we switch the premises, starting with
then P is predicated of M distributed; and, simply converting the other premise, we get—
then P is applied to M completely; and, just by rephrasing the other premise, we get—
whence it follows that—
which means that—
and this is the simple converse of the original conclusion.
and this is the straightforward opposite of the original conclusion.
Once more:
Once again
Some philosophers (M) are hedonists (S):
∴ Some hedonists (S) are not pigs (P).
In this case, instead of P being predicated of M distributed, M is predicated of P distributed; and instead of S (or part of it) being included in M, we are told that some M is included in S. Still there is no real difficulty. Simply convert both the premises, and we have:
In this situation, instead of saying that P applies to M generally, we say that M applies to P generally; and instead of stating that S (or part of it) is part of M, we're told that some of M is part of S. There’s still no real challenge. Just switch both premises around, and we get:
Some hedonists (S) are philosophers (M).
Whence the same conclusion follows; and the whole syllogism plainly conforms directly to the Dictum.
Whence the same conclusion follows; and the whole syllogism clearly aligns directly with the Dictum.
§ 2. Figure is determined by the position of the Middle Term in the premises; of which position there are four possible variations. The middle term may be subject of the major premise, and predicate of the minor, as in the first example above; and this position, being directly conformable to the requirements of the Dictum, is called the First Figure. Or the middle term may be predicate of both premises, as in the second of the above examples; [Pg 123]and this is called the Second Figure. Or the middle term may be subject of both premises, as in the third of the above examples; and this is called the Third Figure. Or, finally, the middle term may be predicate of the major premise, and subject of the minor, as in the fourth example given above; and this is the Fourth Figure.
§ 2. The figure is determined by the position of the Middle Term in the premises, and there are four possible variations for that position. The middle term can be the subject of the major premise and the predicate of the minor, like in the first example above; this position, which matches the requirements of the Dictum, is called the First Figure. Alternatively, the middle term can be the predicate of both premises, as shown in the second example above; [Pg 123]this is known as the Second Figure. The middle term can also be the subject of both premises, as in the third example above; this setup is referred to as the Third Figure. Lastly, the middle term can be the predicate of the major premise and the subject of the minor, as in the fourth example given above; this is called the Fourth Figure.
It may facilitate the recollection of this most important point if we schematise the figures thus:
It might help to remember this important point if we organize the figures like this:

The horizontal lines represent the premises, and at the angles formed with them by the slanting or by the perpendicular lines the middle term occurs. The schema of Figure IV. resembles Z, the last letter of the alphabet: this helps one to remember it in contrast with Figure I., which is thereby also remembered. Figures II. and III. seem to stand back to back.
The horizontal lines represent the premises, and at the angles formed with them by the slanting or perpendicular lines, the middle term appears. The layout of Figure IV resembles Z, the last letter of the alphabet; this makes it easier to remember in contrast with Figure I., which is also remembered this way. Figures II. and III. seem to stand back to back.
A. | All M is P; |
A. | All S is M: |
A. | ∴ All S is P. |
E. | No M is P; |
A. | All S is M: |
E. | ∴ No S is P. |
A. | All M is P; |
I. | Some S is M: |
I. | ∴ Some S is P. |
E. | No M is P; |
I. | Some S is M: |
O. | ∴ Some S is not P. |
[Pg 124]Now, remembering that there are four Figures, and four kinds of propositions (A. I. E. O.), each of which propositions may be major premise, minor premise, or conclusion of a syllogism, it appears that in each Figure there may be 64 Moods, and therefore 256 in all. On examining these 256 Moods, however, we find that only 24 of them are valid (i.e., of such a character that the conclusion strictly follows from the premises), whilst 5 of these 24 are needless, because their conclusions are 'weaker' or less extensive than the premises warrant; that is to say, they are particular when they might be universal. Thus, in Figure I., besides the above 4 Moods, A.A.I. and E.A.O. are valid in the sense of being conclusive; but they are superfluous, because included in A.A.A. and E.A.E. Omitting, then, these 5 needless Moods, which are called 'Subalterns' because their conclusions are subaltern (chap. vii. § 2) to those of other Moods, there remain 19 Moods that are valid and generally recognised.
[Pg 124]Now, considering that there are four Figures and four types of propositions (A, I, E, O), each of which can be a major premise, minor premise, or conclusion of a syllogism, it seems that in each Figure there can be 64 Moods, making a total of 256. However, when we look closely at these 256 Moods, we discover that only 24 of them are valid (i.e., the conclusion strictly follows from the premises), while 5 of those 24 are unnecessary because their conclusions are 'weaker' or less inclusive than the premises allow; meaning they are particular when they could be universal. In Figure I, beyond the 4 Moods mentioned, A.A.I. and E.A.O. are valid in being conclusive, but they are redundant because they are included in A.A.A. and E.A.E. So, leaving out these 5 unnecessary Moods, which are termed 'Subalterns' because their conclusions are subaltern (_chap. vii. § 2_) to those of other Moods, we have 19 Moods that are valid and widely accepted.
§ 4. How these 19 Moods are determined must be our next inquiry. There are several ways more or less ingenious and interesting; but all depend on the application, directly or indirectly, of the Six Canons, which were shown in the last chapter to be the conditions of Mediate Inference.
§ 4. Our next question is how these 19 moods are determined. There are several methods that are more or less clever and engaging; however, they all rely, either directly or indirectly, on the application of the Six Canons, which were outlined in the previous chapter as the conditions of Mediate Inference.
(1) One way is to begin by finding what Moods of Figure I. conform to the Dictum. Now, the Dictum requires that, in the major premise, P be predicated of a term distributed, from which it follows that no Mood can be valid whose major premise is particular, as in I.A.I. or O.A.O. Again, the Dictum requires that the minor premise be affirmative ("with which term another is identified"); so that no Mood can be valid whose minor premise is negative, as in A.E.E. or A.O.O. By such considerations we find that in Figure I., out of 64 Moods possible, only six are valid, namely, those above-mentioned in § 3, including the two subalterns. The second step of this method is [Pg 125]to test the Moods of the Second, Third, and Fourth Figures, by trying whether they can be reduced to one or other of the four Moods of the First (as briefly illustrated in § 1, and to be further explained in § 6).
(1) One way to start is by figuring out which Moods of Figure I. match the Dictum. The Dictum states that in the major premise, P must be stated about a term that is distributed, meaning that no Mood can be valid if its major premise is particular, like in I.A.I. or O.A.O. Additionally, the Dictum requires that the minor premise be affirmative ("which identifies one term with another"); therefore, no Mood can be valid if its minor premise is negative, as in A.E.E. or A.O.O. Considering this, we find that in Figure I., out of 64 possible Moods, only six are valid, specifically the ones mentioned in § 3, including the two subalterns. The second step in this method is [Pg 125]to test the Moods of the Second, Third, and Fourth Figures by seeing if they can be reduced to one of the four Moods of the First (as briefly shown in § 1, and to be explained further in § 6).
(2) Another way is to take the above six General or Common Canons, and to deduce from them Special Canons for testing each Figure: an interesting method, which, on account of its length, will be treated of separately in the next section.
(2) Another way is to take the six General or Common Canons above and create Special Canons for testing each Figure. This is an interesting method that will be discussed separately in the next section due to its length.
(3) Direct application of the Common Canons is, perhaps, the simplest plan. First write out the 64 Moods that are possible without regard to Figure, and then cross out those which violate any of the Canons or Corollaries, thus:
(3) The direct use of the Common Canons might be the easiest approach. Start by listing the 64 possible Moods without considering Figure, and then eliminate any that break any of the Canons or Corollaries, like this:
Whoever has the patience to go through the remaining 48 Moods will discover that of the whole 64 only 11 are valid, namely:
Whoever has the patience to go through the remaining 48 Moods will find that out of the whole 64, only 11 are valid, namely:
A.A.A., A.A.I., A.E.E., A.E.O., A.I.I., A.O.O.,
E.A.E., E.A.O., E.I.O., I.A.I., O.A.O.
A.A.A., A.A.I., A.E.E., A.E.O., A.I.I., A.O.O.,
E.A.E., E.A.O., E.I.O., I.A.I., O.A.O.
These 11 Moods have next to be examined in each Figure, and if valid in every Figure there will still be 44 moods in all. We find, however, that in the First Figure, A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O. involve illicit process of the major term (3rd Can.); I.A.I., O.A.O. involve undistributed Middle (4th Can.); and A.A.I., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Second Figure all the affirmative Moods, A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I., involve undistributed Middle; O.A.O. gives illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Third Figure, A.A.A., E.A.E., involve illicit process of the minor term (3rd Can.); A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O., illicit [Pg 126]process of the major term. In the Fourth Figure, A.A.A. and E.A.E. involve illicit process of the minor term; A.I.I., A.O.O., undistributed Middle; O.A.O. involves illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O. is subaltern.
These 11 moods need to be examined in each Figure, and if they're valid in every Figure, there will still be 44 moods in total. However, we see that in the First Figure, A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O. involve an illicit process of the major term (3rd Can.); I.A.I., O.A.O. involve an undistributed Middle (4th Can.); and A.A.I., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Second Figure, all the affirmative Moods, A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I., involve an undistributed Middle; O.A.O. presents an illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Third Figure, A.A.A., E.A.E., involve an illicit process of the minor term (3rd Can.); A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O., illicit [Pg 126]process of the major term. In the Fourth Figure, A.A.A. and E.A.E. involve an illicit process of the minor term; A.I.I., A.O.O., include an undistributed Middle; O.A.O. involves an illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O. is subaltern.
Those moods of each Figure which, when tried by these tests, are not rejected, are valid, namely:
Those moods of each Figure that pass these tests are valid, namely:
Fig. I.—A.A.A., E.A.E., A.I.I., E.I.O. (A.A.I., E.A.O., Subaltern);
Fig. I.—A.A.A., E.A.E., A.I.I., E.I.O. (A.A.I., E.A.O., Subaltern);
Fig. II.—E.A.E., A.E.E., E.I.O., A.O.O. (E.A.O., A.E.O., Subaltern);
Fig. II.—E.A.E., A.E.E., E.I.O., A.O.O. (E.A.O., A.E.O., Junior);
Fig. III.—A.A.I., I.A.I., A.I.I., E.A.O., O.A.O., E.I.O.;
Fig. III.—A.A.I., I.A.I., A.I.I., E.A.O., O.A.O., E.I.O.;
Fig. IV.—A.A.I., A.E.E., I.A.I., E.A.O., E.I.O. (A.E.O., Subaltern).
Fig. IV.—A.A.I., A.E.E., I.A.I., E.A.O., E.I.O. (A.E.O., Subaltern).
Thus, including subaltern Moods, there are six valid in each Figure. In Fig. III. alone there is no subaltern Mood, because in that Figure there can be no universal conclusion.
Thus, including subaltern moods, there are six valid ones in each figure. In Fig. III. alone, there is no subaltern mood because in that figure, there can't be any universal conclusion.
§ 5. Special Canons of the several Figures, deduced from the Common Canons, enable us to arrive at the same result by a somewhat different course. They are not, perhaps, necessary to the Science, but afford a very useful means of enabling one to thoroughly appreciate the character of formal syllogistic reasoning. Accordingly, the proof of each rule will be indicated, and its elaboration left to the reader. There is no difficulty, if one bears in mind that Figure is determined by the position of the middle term.
§ 5. Special Canons of the different Figures, derived from the Common Canons, allow us to reach the same conclusion through a slightly different approach. They may not be essential to the Science, but they provide a very helpful way to truly understand the nature of formal syllogistic reasoning. Therefore, the proof of each rule will be shown, and its detailed explanation left to the reader. It’s not difficult, as long as one remembers that the Figure is determined by the location of the middle term.
Fig. I., Rule (a): The minor premise must be affirmative.
Fig. I., Rule (a): The minor premise has to be affirmative.
For, if not, in negative Moods there will be illicit process of the major term. Applying this rule to the eleven possible Moods given in § 4, as remaining after application of the Common Canons, it eliminates A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.
For if not, in negative moods there will be an improper use of the major term. Applying this rule to the eleven possible moods mentioned in § 4, after considering the Common Canons, it eliminates A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.
(b) The major premise must be universal.
(b) The main idea must be universal.
Fig. II. (a) One premise must be negative.
Fig. II. (a) One premise has to be negative.
For else neither premise will distribute the middle term. This rule eliminates A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I.
For neither premise will distribute the middle term. This rule eliminates A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I.
(b) The major premise must be universal.
(b) The main idea has to be universal.
For else, the conclusion being negative, there will be illicit process of the major term. This eliminates I.A.I., O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including two subalterns.
For if the conclusion is negative, there will be an improper process of the major term. This rules out I.A.I., O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including two subalterns.
Fig. III. (a) The minor premise must be affirmative.
Fig. III. (a) The minor premise has to be affirmative.
For else, in negative moods there will be illicit process of the major term. This rule eliminates A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.
For other cases, in negative moods, there will be an illegal process of the major term. This rule removes A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.
(b) The conclusion must be particular.
The conclusion must be specific.
For, if not, the minor premise being affirmative, there will be illicit process of the minor term. This eliminates A.A.A., A.E.E., E.A.E.; leaving six Moods.
For if not, with the minor premise being affirmative, there will be an improper process of the minor term. This rules out A.A.A., A.E.E., E.A.E.; leaving six Moods.
Fig. IV. (a) When the major premise is affirmative, the minor must be universal.
Fig. IV. (a) When the main premise is positive, the minor one must be universal.
For else the middle term is undistributed. This eliminates A.I.I., A.O.O.
For otherwise, the middle term is not fully addressed. This rules out A.I.I., A.O.O.
(b) When the minor premise is affirmative the conclusion must be particular.
(b) If the minor premise is affirmative, the conclusion has to be particular.
Otherwise there will be illicit process of the minor term. This eliminates A.A.A., E.A.E.
Otherwise, there will be an unauthorized process regarding the minor term. This removes A.A.A., E.A.E.
(c) When either premise is negative, the major must be universal.
(c) If either premise is negative, the major premise has to be universal.
For else, the conclusion being negative, there will be illicit process of the major term. This eliminates O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including one subaltern.
For otherwise, if the conclusion is negative, there will be an improper use of the major term. This removes O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including one subaltern.
§ 6. Reduction is either—(1) Ostensive or (2) Indirect. Ostensive Reduction consists in showing that an argument given in one Mood can also be stated in another; the process is especially used to show that the Moods of the second, third, and fourth Figures are equivalent to one or [Pg 128]another Mood of the first Figure. It thus proves the validity of the former Moods by showing that they also essentially conform to the Dictum, and that all Categorical Syllogisms are only superficial varieties of one type of proof.
§ 6. Reduction can be either—(1) Ostensive or (2) Indirect. Ostensive Reduction involves demonstrating that an argument presented in one Mood can also be expressed in another; this method is particularly used to show that the Moods of the second, third, and fourth Figures are equivalent to one or [Pg 128]another Mood of the first Figure. It thereby establishes the validity of the earlier Moods by illustrating that they also fundamentally adhere to the Dictum, and that all Categorical Syllogisms are merely surface-level variations of one type of proof.
To facilitate Reduction, the recognised Moods have all had names given them; which names, again, have been strung together into mnemonic verses of great force and pregnancy:
To make Reduction easier, the recognized Moods have all been given names; these names have then been arranged into powerful and memorable verses:
Bocardo, Ferison, has it: Additionally, it adds a fourth. Bramantip, Camenes, Dimaris, Fesapo, Fresison.
In the above verses the names of the Moods of Fig. I. begin with the first four consonants B, C, D, F, in alphabetical order; and the names of all other Moods likewise begin with these letters, thus signifying (except in Baroco and Bocardo) the mood of Fig. I., to which each is equivalent, and to which it is to be reduced: as Bramantip to Barbara, Camestres to Celarent, and so forth.
In the verses above, the names of the Moods of Fig. I. start with the first four consonants B, C, D, F, in alphabetical order; and the names of all other Moods also start with these letters, indicating (except in Baroco and Bocardo) the mood of Fig. I. that each corresponds to, and to which it should be simplified: for example, Bramantip to Barbara, Camestres to Celarent, and so on.
The vowels A, E, I, O, occurring in the several names, give the quantity and quality of major premise, minor premise, and conclusion in the usual order.
The vowels A, E, I, O, found in the various names, indicate the quantity and quality of the major premise, minor premise, and conclusion in the typical order.
The consonants s and p, occurring after a vowel, show that the proposition which the vowel stands for is to be converted either (s) simply or (p) per accidens; except where s or p occurs after the third vowel of a name, the conclusion: then it refers not to the conclusion of the given Mood (say Disamis), but to the conclusion of that Mood of the first Figure to which the given Mood is reduced (Darii).
The consonants s and p, coming after a vowel, indicate that the proposition represented by the vowel can be converted either (s) simply or (p) per accidens; except when s or p follows the third vowel of a name, in which case it does not refer to the conclusion of the specified Mood (like Disamis) but to the conclusion of the first Figure Mood to which the given Mood is simplified (Darii).
M (mutare, metathesis) means 'transpose the premises' (as of Camestres).
M (mutare, metathesis) means 'switch the premises' (as in Camestres).
C means 'substitute the contradictory of the conclusion for the foregoing premise,' a process of the Indirect Reduction to be presently explained (see Baroco, § 8).
C means 'replace the contradiction of the conclusion with the previous premise,' a method of Indirect Reduction that will be explained shortly (see Baroco, § 8).
The other consonants, r, n, t (with b and d, when not initial), occurring here and there, have no mnemonic significance.
The other consonants, r, n, t (along with b and d when they’re not at the beginning), appear here and there and don’t have any memory aids.
What now is the problem of Reduction? The difference of Figures depends upon the position of the Middle Term. To reduce a Mood of any other Figure to the form of the First, then, we must so manipulate its premises that the Middle Term shall be subject of the major premise and predicate of the minor premise.
What is the issue of Reduction now? The difference between Figures relies on the placement of the Middle Term. To convert a Mood from any other Figure into the form of the First, we need to adjust its premises so that the Middle Term is the subject of the major premise and the predicate of the minor premise.
Now in Fig. II. the Middle Term is predicate of both premises; so that the minor premise may need no alteration, and to convert the major premise may suffice. This is the case with Cesare, which reduces to Celarent by simply converting the major premise; and with Festino, which by the same process becomes Ferio. In Camestres, however, the minor premise is negative; and, as this is impossible in Fig. I., the premises must be transposed, and the new major premise must be simply converted: then, since the transposition of the premises will have transposed the terms of the conclusion (according to the usual reading of syllogisms), the new conclusion must be simply converted in order to prove the validity of the original conclusion. The process may be thus represented (s.c. meaning 'simply convert')
Now in Fig. II, the Middle Term is the predicate of both premises, so the minor premise usually doesn't need any changes, and converting the major premise might be enough. This applies to Cesare, which can be turned into Celarent just by converting the major premise, and to Festino, which becomes Ferio through the same process. However, in Camestres, the minor premise is negative, and since this can't happen in Fig. I, the premises must be switched around, and the new major premise needs to be simply converted. Then, because switching the premises will also switch the terms in the conclusion (according to the standard way of interpreting syllogisms), the new conclusion must be simply converted to demonstrate the validity of the original conclusion. This process can be represented as follows (s.c. meaning 'simply convert')

The Ostensive Reduction of Baroco also needs special explanation; for as it used to be reduced indirectly, its name gives no indication of the ostensive process. To reduce it ostensively let us call it Faksnoko, where k means 'obvert the foregoing premise.' By thus obverting (k) and simply [Pg 130]converting (s) (in sum, contrapositing) the major premise, and obverting the minor premise, we get a syllogism in Ferio, thus:
The Ostensive Reduction of Baroco also needs special explanation because it used to be reduced indirectly, and its name doesn’t indicate the ostensive process. To reduce it ostensively, let’s call it Faksnoko, where k means 'invert the previous premise.' By inverting (k) and simply [Pg 130]converting (s) (which means putting it in the opposite form) the major premise, and inverting the minor premise, we get a syllogism in Ferio, as follows:

In Fig. III. the middle term is subject of both premises; so that, to reduce its Moods to the First Figure, it may be enough to convert the minor premise. This is the case with Darapti, Datisi, Felapton, and Ferison. But, with Disamis, since the major premise must in the First Figure be universal, we must transpose the premises, and then simply convert the new minor premise; and, lastly, since the major and minor terms have now changed places, we must simply convert the new conclusion in order to verify the old one. Thus:
In Fig. III, the middle term is the subject of both premises; therefore, to reduce its Moods to the First Figure, it may be sufficient to convert the minor premise. This applies to Darapti, Datisi, Felapton, and Ferison. However, with Disamis, since the major premise must be universal in the First Figure, we need to transpose the premises, and then just convert the new minor premise; finally, since the major and minor terms have now switched places, we just need to convert the new conclusion to confirm the old one. Thus:

Bocardo, like Baroco, indicates by its name the indirect process. To reduce it ostensively let its name be Doksamrosk, and proceed thus:
Bocardo, like Baroco, signifies the indirect process by its name. To simplify it visibly, let's call it Doksamrosk, and proceed like this:

In Fig. IV. the position of the middle term is, in both premises, the reverse of what it is in the First Figure; we may therefore reduce its Moods either by transposing the premises, as with Bramantip, Camenes, and Dimaris; or by converting both premises, the course pursued with Fesapo and Fresison. It may suffice to illustrate by the case of Bramantip:
In Fig. IV, the middle term is positioned differently in both premises compared to the First Figure; therefore, we can simplify its Moods either by switching the premises, like in Bramantip, Camenes, and Dimaris; or by converting both premises, as seen in Fesapo and Fresison. Let's illustrate this with Bramantip's case:

This case shows that a final significant consonant (s, p, or sk) in the name of any Mood refers to the conclusion of the new syllogism in the First Figure; since p in Bramantip cannot refer to that Mood's own conclusion in I.; which, being already particular, cannot be converted per accidens.
This case shows that a final significant consonant (s, p, or sk) in the name of any Mood refers to the conclusion of the new syllogism in the First Figure; since p in Bramantip cannot refer to that Mood's own conclusion in I.; which, being already particular, cannot be converted per accidens.
Finally, in Fig. I., Darii and Ferio differ respectively from Barbara and Celarent only in this, that their minor premises, and consequently their conclusions, are subaltern to the corresponding propositions of the universal Moods; a difference which seems insufficient to give them rank as distinct forms of demonstration. And as for Barbara and Celarent, they are easily reducible to one another by obverting their major premises and the new conclusions, thus:
Finally, in Fig. I., Darii and Ferio differ from Barbara and Celarent only in that their minor premises, and therefore their conclusions, are subordinate to the corresponding propositions of the universal moods; a difference that seems too small to classify them as separate forms of demonstration. As for Barbara and Celarent, they can easily be converted into one another by changing their major premises and the new conclusions, like this:

There is, then, only one fundamental syllogism.
There is only one basic syllogism.
§ 7. A new version of the mnemonic lines was suggested in Mind No. 27, with the object of (1) freeing them from all meaningless letters, (2) showing by the name of each Mood the Figure to which it belongs, (3) giving names to indicate the ostensive reduction of Baroco and Bocardo. To obtain the first two objects, l is used as the mark of Fig. I., n of Fig II., r of Fig. III., t of Fig. IV. The verses (to be scanned discreetly) are as follows:
§ 7. A new version of the mnemonic lines was suggested in Mind No. 27, with the goal of (1) removing all meaningless letters, (2) indicating, through the name of each Mood, the Figure to which it belongs, and (3) providing names to reflect the clear reduction of Baroco and Bocardo. To achieve the first two goals, l is used to mark Fig. I., n for Fig II., r for Fig. III., and t for Fig. IV. The verses (to be scanned discreetly) are as follows:
Balala, | Celalel, | Dalii, | Felioque prioris: |
{Faksnoko} | |||
Cesane, | Camenes, | Fesinon, | {Banoco,} secundæ: |
Tertia, | Darapri, | Drisamis, | Darisi, Ferapro, |
Doksamrosk | }, Ferisor habet: | Quarta insuper addit. | |
Bocaro | } | ||
Bamatip, | Cametes, | Dimatis, | Fesapto, Fesistot. |
De Morgan praised the old verses as "more full of meaning than any others that ever were made"; and in defence of the above alteration it may be said that they now deserve that praise still more.
De Morgan praised the old verses as "more full of meaning than any others ever made"; and in support of this change, it can be argued that they now deserve that praise even more.
§ 8. Indirect reduction is the process of proving a Mood to be valid by showing that the supposition of its invalidity involves a contradiction. Take Baroco, and (since the doubt as to its validity is concerned not with the truth of the premises, but with their relation to the conclusion) assume the premises to be true. Then, if the conclusion be false, its contradictory is true. The conclusion being in O., its contradictory will be in A. Substituting this A. for the minor premise of Baroco, we have the premises of a syllogism in Barbara, which will be found to give a conclusion in A., contradictory of the original minor premise; thus:
§ 8. Indirect reduction is the method of demonstrating that a Mood is valid by proving that assuming it is invalid leads to a contradiction. Take Baroco, and (since the uncertainty about its validity is related to the connection between the premises and the conclusion, not the truth of the premises themselves) let's assume the premises are true. If the conclusion is false, then its opposite must be true. Given that the conclusion is in O., its opposite will be in A. By replacing this A. with the minor premise of Baroco, we create the premises for a syllogism in Barbara, which will show a conclusion in A., contradicting the original minor premise; thus:

[Pg 133]But the original minor premise, Some S is not M, is true by hypothesis; and therefore the conclusion of Barbara, All S is M, is false. This falsity cannot, however, be due to the form of Barbara, which we know to be valid; nor to the major premise, which, being taken from Baroco, is true by hypothesis: it must, therefore, lie in the minor premise of Barbara, All S is P; and since this is contradictory of the conclusion of Baroco Some S is not P, that conclusion was true.
[Pg 133]But the original minor premise, Some S is not M, is true by assumption; and therefore the conclusion of Barbara, All S is M, is false. This falsehood cannot, however, be due to the structure of Barbara, which we know is valid; nor can it be due to the major premise, which, taken from Baroco, is true by assumption: it must therefore lie in the minor premise of Barbara, All S is P; and since this contradicts the conclusion of Baroco Some S is not P, that conclusion was true.
Similarly, with Bocardo, the Indirect Reduction proceeds by substituting for the major premise the contradictory of the conclusion; thus again obtaining the premises of a syllogism in Barbara, whose conclusion is contradictory of the original major premise. Hence the initial B in Baroco and Bocardo: it points to a syllogism in Barbara as the means of Indirect Reduction (Reductio ad impossibile).
Similarly, with Bocardo, the Indirect Reduction works by replacing the main premise with the opposite of the conclusion; this again gives us the premises of a syllogism in Barbara, whose conclusion contradicts the original main premise. Hence the initial B in Baroco and Bocardo: it indicates a syllogism in Barbara as the method of Indirect Reduction (Reductio ad impossibile).
Any other Mood may be reduced indirectly: as, for example, Dimaris. If this is supposed to be invalid and the conclusion false, substitute the contradictory of the conclusion for the major premise, thus obtaining the premises of Celarent:
Any other Mood can be reduced indirectly: for example, Dimaris. If this is considered invalid and the conclusion false, replace the contradictory of the conclusion for the major premise, thereby obtaining the premises of Celarent:

The conclusion of Celarent, simply converted, contradicts the original major premise of Dimaris, and is therefore false. Therefore the major premise of Celarent is false, and the conclusion of Dimaris is true. We might, of course, construct mnemonic names for the Indirect Reduction of all the Moods: the name of Dimaris would then be Cicari.
The conclusion of Celarent, when simply converted, contradicts the original major premise of Dimaris, making it false. Therefore, the major premise of Celarent is false, and the conclusion of Dimaris is true. We could, of course, create mnemonic names for the Indirect Reduction of all the Moods: Dimaris would then be called Cicari.
§ 9. The need or use of any Figure but the First has been much discussed by Logicians. Since, in actual debate, arguments are rarely stated in syllogistic form, and, therefore, if reduced to that form for closer scrutiny, generally have to be treated with some freedom; why not always throw them at once into the First Figure? That Figure has manifest advantages: it agrees directly with the Dictum; it gives conclusions in all four propositional forms, and therefore serves every purpose of full affirmation or denial, of showing agreement or difference (total or partial), of establishing the contradictories of universal statements; and it is the only Figure in which the subject and predicate of the conclusion occupy the same positions in the premises, so that the course of argument has in its mere expression an easy and natural flow.
§ 9. The necessity or use of any Figure besides the First has been widely debated by Logicians. Since, in real discussions, arguments are rarely presented in syllogistic form, and when they are rephrased into that form for closer examination, they usually require some flexibility; why not just always start with the First Figure? This Figure has clear benefits: it aligns directly with the Dictum; it provides conclusions in all four propositional forms, which meets every need for complete affirmation or denial, showing agreement or difference (whether total or partial), and establishing the contradictions of universal statements; and it is the only Figure where the subject and predicate of the conclusion occupy the same positions in the premises, allowing the argument to flow easily and naturally in its expression.
Still, the Second Figure also has a very natural air in some kinds of negative arguments. The parallelism of the two premises, with the middle term as predicate in both, brings out very forcibly the necessary difference between the major and minor terms that is involved in their opposite relations to the middle term. P is not, whilst S is, M, says Cesare: that drives home the conviction that S is not P. Similarly in Camestres: Deer do, oxen do not, shed their horns. What is the conclusion?
Still, the Second Figure also has a very natural feel in some types of negative arguments. The parallel structure of the two premises, with the middle term as the predicate in both, highlights the important difference between the major and minor terms that is reflected in their opposing relationships to the middle term. P is not, while S is, M, says Cesare: that strongly reinforces the belief that S is not P. Similarly in Camestres: Deer do, oxen do not, shed their horns. What’s the conclusion?
The Third Figure, again, furnishes in Darapti and Felapton, the most natural forms of stating arguments in which the middle term is singular:
The Third Figure, again, provides in Darapti and Felapton, the most straightforward ways to present arguments where the middle term is singular:
Reducing this to Fig I., we should get for the minor premise, Some Greek was Socrates: which is certainly inelegant. Still, it might be urged that, in relation to proof, elegance is an extraneous consideration. And as for the other advantage claimed for Fig. III.—that, as it yields only [Pg 135]particular conclusions, it is useful in establishing contradictories against universals—for that purpose none of its Moods can be better than Darii or Ferio.
Reducing this to Figure I, we should get for the minor premise, Some Greeks were Socrates: which is certainly not elegant. Still, it could be argued that, in terms of proof, elegance is a secondary concern. Regarding the other advantage claimed for Figure III—that it only provides [Pg 135] particular conclusions, making it useful for establishing contradictories against universals—none of its Moods can be better for that purpose than Darii or Ferio.
As for Fig. IV., no particular advantage has been claimed for it. It is of comparatively late recognition (sometimes called the 'Galenian,' after Galen, its supposed discoverer); and its scientific claim to exist at all is disputed. It is said to be a mere inversion of Fig. I.; which is not true in any sense in which Figs. II. and III. may not be condemned as partial inversions of Fig. I., and as having therefore still less claim to recognition. It is also said to invert the order of thought; as if thought had only one order, or as if the order of thought had anything to do with Formal Logic. Surely, if distinction of Figure be recognised at all, the Fourth Figure is scientifically necessary, because it is inevitably generated by an analysis of the possible positions of the middle term.
As for Fig. IV, no specific benefits have been claimed for it. It is relatively newly recognized (sometimes referred to as the 'Galenian,' named after Galen, who is believed to have discovered it), and its scientific validity is contested. Some argue it's just a simple inversion of Fig. I, but that's not accurate in any way that Figs. II and III could also be dismissed as partial inversions of Fig. I and therefore have even less validity. There's also a claim that it reverses the order of thought, as if there's only one way to think or as if the order of thought has anything to do with Formal Logic. Clearly, if we acknowledge any distinction of Figures, the Fourth Figure is scientifically necessary, as it is inevitably produced by analyzing the possible positions of the middle term.
§ 10. Is Reduction necessary, however; or have not all the Figures equal and independent validity? In one sense not only every Figure but each Mood has independent validity: for any one capable of abstract thinking sees its validity by direct inspection; and this is true not only of the abstract Moods, but very frequently of particular concrete arguments. But science aims at unifying knowledge; and after reducing all possible arguments that form categorical syllogisms to the nineteen Moods, it is another step in the same direction to reduce these Moods to one form. This is the very nature of science: and, accordingly, the efforts of some Logicians to expound separate principles of each Figure seem to be supererogatory. Grant that they succeed; and what can the next step be, but either to reduce these principles to the Dictum, or the Dictum and the rest to one of these principles? Unless this can be done there is no science of Formal Logic. If it is done, what is gained by reducing the principles of the other Figures to the Dictum, instead of the Moods of the other Figures to [Pg 136]those of the first Figure? It may, perhaps, be said that to show (1) that the Moods of the second, third, and fourth Figures flow from their own principles (though, in fact, these principles are laboriously adapted to the Moods); and (2) that these principles may be derived from the Dictum, is the more uncompromisingly gradual and regular method: but is not Formal Logic already sufficiently encumbered with formalities?
§ 10. Is reduction necessary, or do all the figures have equal and independent validity? In a way, not only every figure but each mood has its own validity: anyone capable of abstract thought recognizes this validity through direct observation; this is true not just for the abstract moods but often for specific concrete arguments as well. However, science aims to unify knowledge; after reducing all possible arguments that form categorical syllogisms to the nineteen moods, it's another step in the same direction to further reduce these moods to one form. This is the essence of science: therefore, the attempts by some logicians to explain separate principles for each figure seem unnecessary. Assuming they succeed, what can the next step be but to reduce these principles to the Dictum, or to reduce the Dictum and the rest to one of these principles? If this isn't possible, there is no science of formal logic. If it is possible, what's the benefit of reducing the principles of the other figures to the Dictum, instead of reducing the moods of the other figures to those of the first figure? It might be argued that (1) showing that the moods of the second, third, and fourth figures originate from their own principles (which, in fact, are painstakingly adjusted to fit the moods), and (2) that these principles can be derived from the Dictum, is a more systematic and consistent approach: but isn't formal logic already burdened enough with formalities?



[Pg 137]Remembering that 'Some' means 'It may be all,' it is plain that any one of these diagrams in Fig. 7, or the one given above for Barbara, may represent the denotative relations of P, M and S in Darii; though no doubt the diagram we generally think of as representing Darii is No. 1 in Fig. 7.
[Pg 137]Keeping in mind that 'Some' means 'It could be all,' it's clear that any of the diagrams in Fig. 7, or the one shown above for Barbara, could represent the denotative relationships of P, M, and S in Darii; although, it's likely that the diagram most people consider to represent Darii is No. 1 in Fig. 7.
Remembering that A may be U, and that, therefore, wherever A occurs there may be only one circle for S and P, these syllogisms may be represented by only two circles, and Barbara by only one.
Remembering that A could be U, and that, therefore, wherever A appears there might be just one circle for S and P, these syllogisms can be represented by just two circles, and Barbara by only one.

Here, again, probably, we generally think of No. 1 as the diagram representing Ferio; but 2, or 3, or that given above for Celarent, is compatible with the premises.
Here, again, we probably think of No. 1 as the diagram representing Ferio; however, 2, 3, or the one given above for Celarent also works with the premises.
If instead of dealing with M, P, and S, a concrete example be taken of Darii or Ferio, a knowledge of the facts of the case will show what diagram is suitable to it. But, then, surely it must be possible to do without the diagram. These diagrams, of course, can be used to illustrate Moods of the other Figures.
If we take a concrete example like Darii or Ferio instead of dealing with M, P, and S, knowing the details of the case will reveal which diagram fits it. However, it should be possible to manage without the diagram. These diagrams can, of course, be used to illustrate the Moods of the other Figures.
CHAPTER XI
ABBREVIATED AND COMPOUND ARGUMENTS
§ 1. In ordinary discussion, whether oral or written, it is but rarely that the forms of Logic are closely adhered to. We often leave wide gaps in the structure of our arguments, trusting the intelligence of those addressed to bridge them over; or we invert the regular order of propositions, beginning with the conclusion, and mentioning the premises, perhaps, a good while after, confident that the sagacity of our audience will make all smooth. Sometimes a full style, like Macaulay's, may, by means of amplification and illustration, spread the elements of a single syllogism over several pages—a pennyworth of logic steeped in so much eloquence. These practices give a great advantage to sophists; who would find it very inconvenient to state explicitly in Mood and Figure the pretentious antilogies which they foist upon the public; and, indeed, such licences of composition often prevent honest men from detecting errors into which they themselves have unwittingly fallen, and which, with the best intentions, they strive to communicate to others: but we put up with these drawbacks to avoid the inelegance and the tedium of a long discourse in accurate syllogisms.
§ 1. In everyday conversation, whether spoken or written, we hardly ever stick closely to the rules of Logic. We often leave big gaps in our arguments, expecting the listeners or readers to fill them in; or we mess up the usual order of ideas by starting with the conclusion and then mentioning the reasons much later, trusting that our audience will understand. Sometimes, a detailed style, like Macaulay's, can stretch a simple syllogism over several pages—like a bit of logic wrapped in a lot of eloquence. These habits give a significant edge to manipulators, who would struggle to clearly lay out the complex arguments they present to the public; and, in fact, these loose styles often prevent well-meaning people from spotting mistakes they unknowingly make and which they try to share with others. But we accept these issues to avoid the awkwardness and boredom of a long, precise argument filled with strict syllogisms.
Many departures from the strictly logical statement of reasonings consist in the use of vague or figurative language, or in the substitution for one another of expressions supposed to be equivalent, though, in fact, dangerously discrepant. Against such occasions of error the logician can provide no safeguard, except the advice to be careful and discriminating [Pg 139]in what you say or hear. But as to any derangement of the elements of an argument, or the omission of them, Logic effectually aids the task of restoration; for it has shown what the elements are that enter into the explicit statement of most ratiocinations, namely, the four forms of propositions and what that connected order of propositions is which most easily and surely exposes the validity or invalidity of reasoning, namely, the premises and conclusion of the Syllogism. Logic has even gone so far as to name certain abbreviated forms of proof, which may be regarded as general types of those that actually occur in debate, in leading articles, pamphlets and other persuasive or polemic writings—namely, the Enthymeme, Epicheirema and Sorites.
Many deviations from a strictly logical reasoning involve the use of vague or figurative language, or the interchange of terms that are thought to be equivalent, but are actually quite different. The only advice the logician can offer to avoid these errors is to be careful and discerning [Pg 139] about what you say or hear. However, when it comes to rearranging or omitting elements of an argument, Logic effectively helps restore order, as it clarifies the components that make up the clear statement of most arguments, specifically the four types of propositions and the proper sequence of propositions that best reveals the validity or invalidity of reasoning, namely, the premises and conclusion of the Syllogism. Logic has even classified certain abbreviated forms of proof, which can be seen as general templates for those that often appear in debates, opinion pieces, pamphlets, and other persuasive or argumentative writings—specifically, the Enthymeme, Epicheirema, and Sorites.
§ 2. The Enthymeme, according to Aristotle, is the Syllogism of probable reasoning about practical affairs and matters of opinion, in contrast with the Syllogism of theoretical demonstration upon necessary grounds. But, as now commonly treated, it is an argument with one of its elements omitted; a Categorical Syllogism, having one or other of its premises, or else its conclusion, suppressed. If the major premise be suppressed, it is called an Enthymeme of the First Order; if the minor premise be wanting, it is said to be of the Second Order; if the conclusion be left to be understood, there is an Enthymeme of the Third Order.
§ 2. According to Aristotle, the Enthymeme is a type of reasoning that deals with practical matters and opinions, unlike the Syllogism, which is based on necessary and theoretical proof. Today, it's generally seen as an argument where one of its components is missing; specifically, a Categorical Syllogism that has either one of its premises or its conclusion hidden. If the major premise is missing, it’s known as an Enthymeme of the First Order; if the minor premise is missing, it's referred to as the Second Order; and if the conclusion is implied, it is called an Enthymeme of the Third Order.
Let the following be a complete Syllogism:
Let the following be a complete Syllogism:
The Dutch are resourceful.
Reduced to Enthymemes, this argument may be put thus:
Reduced to Enthymemes, this argument can be stated like this:
In the First Order:
In the First Order:
The Dutch are innovative.
In the Second Order—
In the Second Order—
In the Third Order—
In the Third Order—
It is certainly very common to meet with arguments whose statement may be represented by one or other of these three forms; indeed, the Enthymeme is the natural substitute for a full syllogism in oratory: whence the transition from Aristotle's to the modern meaning of the term. The most unschooled of men readily apprehend its force; and a student of Logic can easily supply the proposition that may be wanted in any case to complete a syllogism, and thereby test the argument's formal validity. In any Enthymeme of the Third Order, especially, to supply the conclusion cannot present any difficulty at all; and hence it is a favourite vehicle of innuendo, as in Hamilton's example:
It’s definitely common to encounter arguments that can be expressed in one of these three ways; in fact, the Enthymeme is often used in place of a full syllogism in speech: hence the shift in meaning from Aristotle's time to today. Even the least educated people can easily grasp its power, and a Logic student can quickly add the missing proposition to complete a syllogism and test the argument's formal validity. In any Enthymeme of the Third Order, especially, adding the conclusion is usually straightforward; therefore, it's a popular tool for suggestive implications, as seen in Hamilton's example:
The frankness of this statement and its reticence, together, make it a biting sarcasm upon Caius.
The straightforwardness of this statement and its hesitation together create a sharp sarcasm directed at Caius.
The process of finding the missing premise in an Enthymeme of either the First or the Second Order, so as to constitute a syllogism, is sometimes called Reduction; and for this a simple rule may be given: Take that term of the given premise which does not occur in the conclusion (and which must therefore be the Middle), and combine it with that term of the conclusion which does not occur in the given premise; the proposition thus formed is the premise which was requisite to complete the Syllogism. If the premise thus constituted contain the predicate of the conclusion, the Enthymeme was of the First Order; if it [Pg 141]contain the subject of the conclusion, the Enthymeme was of the Second Order.
The process of identifying the missing premise in an Enthymeme, whether it's of the First or Second Order, to create a syllogism is sometimes referred to as Reduction. There's a straightforward rule for this: Take the term from the given premise that doesn't appear in the conclusion (which must be the Middle), and pair it with the term from the conclusion that isn't in the given premise. The proposition you create this way is the premise needed to complete the syllogism. If the premise you form includes the predicate of the conclusion, the Enthymeme was of the First Order; if it includes the subject of the conclusion, then the Enthymeme was of the Second Order.
That a statement in the form of a Hypothetical Proposition may really be an Enthymeme (as observed in chap. v. § 4) can easily be shown by recasting one of the above Enthymemes thus: If all free nations are enterprising, the Dutch are enterprising. Such statements should be treated according to their true nature.
That a statement in the form of a Hypothetical Proposition can actually be an Enthymeme (as noted in chap. v. § 4) can be easily demonstrated by rephrasing one of the previous Enthymemes like this: If all free nations are enterprising, then the Dutch are enterprising. These statements should be handled based on their true nature.
To reduce the argument of any ordinary discourse to logical form, the first care should be to make it clear to oneself what exactly the conclusion is, and to state it adequately but as succinctly as possible. Then look for the evidence. This may be of an inductive character, consisting of instances, examples, analogies; and, if so, of course its cogency must be evaluated by the principles of Induction, which we shall presently investigate. But if the evidence be deductive, it will probably consist of an Enthymeme, or of several Enthymemes one depending on another. Each Enthymeme may be isolated and expanded into a syllogism. And we may then inquire: (1) whether the syllogisms are formally correct according to Barbara (or whatever the appropriate Mood); (2) whether the premises, or the ultimate premises, are true in fact.
To break down any ordinary discussion into its logical components, the first step is to clarify what the conclusion is and to express it as clearly and briefly as possible. Next, look for the evidence. This could be inductive, involving instances, examples, or analogies; if that's the case, its strength needs to be assessed based on the principles of Induction, which we'll explore shortly. However, if the evidence is deductive, it will likely consist of an Enthymeme or a series of interconnected Enthymemes. Each Enthymeme can be separated and expanded into a syllogism. We can then ask: (1) whether the syllogisms are formally correct according to Barbara (or whatever the appropriate Mood); (2) whether the premises, or the ultimate premises, are factually true.
§ 3. A Monosyllogism is a syllogism considered as standing alone or without relation to other arguments. But, of course, a disputant may be asking to prove the premises of any syllogism; in which case other syllogisms may be advanced for that purpose. When the conclusion of one syllogism is used to prove another, we have a chain-argument which, stated at full length, is a Polysyllogism. In any Polysyllogism, again, a syllogism whose conclusion is used as the premise of another, is called in relation to that other a Prosyllogism; whilst a syllogism one of whose premises is the conclusion of another syllogism, is in relation to that other an Episyllogism. Two modes of abbreviating a Polysyllogism, are usually discussed, the Epicheirema and the Sorites.
§ 3. A Monosyllogism is a syllogism considered on its own, without reference to other arguments. However, a person in a debate might need to prove the premises of any syllogism, which would involve presenting other syllogisms for that purpose. When the conclusion of one syllogism is used to support another, we have a chain-argument, which is fully expressed as a Polysyllogism. In any Polysyllogism, a syllogism whose conclusion serves as the premise of another is known as a Prosyllogism in relation to that other. Meanwhile, a syllogism that has one of its premises as the conclusion of another syllogism is referred to as an Episyllogism in relation to that other. Two common ways to abbreviate a Polysyllogism are the Epicheirema and the Sorites.
Socrates is a man because rational bipeds are classified as men:
∴ Socrates is human.
The Epicheirema is called Single or Double, says Hamilton, according as an "adscititious proposition" attaches to one or both of the premises. The above example is of the double kind. The Single Epicheirema is said to be of the First Order, if the adscititious proposition attach to the major premise; if to the minor, of the Second Order. (Hamilton's Logic: Lecture xix.)
The Epicheirema is referred to as Single or Double, according to Hamilton, depending on whether an "additional statement" connects to one or both of the premises. The example provided is of the double type. The Single Epicheirema is classified as First Order if the additional statement links to the major premise; if it connects to the minor, it's considered Second Order. (Hamilton's Logic: Lecture xix.)
An Epicheirema, then, is an abbreviated chain of reasoning, or Polysyllogism, comprising an Episyllogism with one or two enthymematic Prosyllogisms. The major premise in the above case, All men are mortal, for they are animals, is an Enthymeme of the First Order, suppressing its own major premise, and may be restored thus:
An Epicheirema is a shortened chain of reasoning, or Polysyllogism, which includes an Episyllogism along with one or two enthymematic Prosyllogisms. In this case, the major premise, All men are mortal, for they are animals, is an Enthymeme of the First Order, omitting its major premise, and it can be restored like this:
All humans are mortal.
The minor premise, Socrates is a man, for rational bipeds are men, is an Enthymeme of the Second Order, suppressing its own minor premise, and may be restored thus:
The minor premise, Socrates is a man, since rational bipeds are men, is an Enthymeme of the Second Order, omitting its own minor premise, and can be rephrased like this:
Socrates is a man.
Two varieties of Sorites are recognised, the Aristotelian (so called, though not treated of by Aristotle), and the[Pg 143] Goclenian (named after its discoverer, Goclenius of Marburg, who flourished about 1600 A.D.). In order to compare these two forms of argument, it will be convenient to place side by side Hamilton's classical examples of them.
Two types of Sorites are recognized: the Aristotelian (named so, even though Aristotle didn't discuss it) and the[Pg 143] Goclenian (named after its discoverer, Goclenius of Marburg, who was active around 1600 A.D.). To compare these two forms of argument, it makes sense to put Hamilton's classic examples of them side by side.
Aristotelian. | Goclenian. | ||
Bucephalus is a horse; | An animal is a substance; | ||
A horse is a quadruped; | A quadruped is an animal; | ||
A quadruped is an animal; | A horse is a quadruped; | ||
An animal is a substance: | Bucephalus is a horse: | ||
∴ | Bucephalus is a substance. | ∴ | Bucephalus is a substance. |
The reader wonders what is the difference between these two forms. In the Aristotelian Sorites the minor term occurs in the first premise, and the major term in the last; whilst in the Goclenian the major term occurs in the first premise, and the minor in the last. But since the character of premises is fixed by their terms, not by the order in which they are written, there cannot be a better example of a distinction without a difference. At a first glance, indeed, there may seem to be a more important point involved; the premises of the Aristotelian Sorites seem to proceed in the order of Fig. IV. But if that were really so the conclusion would be, Some Substance is Bucephalus. That, on the contrary, every one writes the conclusion, Bucephalus is a substance, proves that the logical order of the premises is in Fig. I. Logically, therefore, there is absolutely no difference between these two forms, and pure reason requires either that the "Aristotelian Sorites" disappear from the text-books, or that it be regarded as in Fig. IV., and its conclusion converted. It is the shining merit of Goclenius to have restored the premises of the Sorites to the usual order of Fig. I.: whereby he has raised to himself a monument more durable than brass, and secured indeed the very cheapest immortality.
The reader wonders what the difference is between these two forms. In the Aristotelian Sorites, the minor term appears in the first premise, and the major term in the last; while in the Goclenian, the major term is in the first premise, and the minor is in the last. However, since the nature of premises is determined by their terms, not by the order they're presented, this is a classic case of a distinction without a difference. At first glance, it may seem there’s a more significant issue at play; the premises of the Aristotelian Sorites seem to follow the order of Fig. IV. But if that were true, the conclusion would be, Some Substance is Bucephalus. The fact that everyone writes the conclusion as Bucephalus is a substance shows that the logical order of the premises is actually in Fig. I. Logically, therefore, there is absolutely no difference between these two forms, and pure reason either requires that the "Aristotelian Sorites" be removed from textbooks or that it be treated as in Fig. IV., with its conclusion changed. Goclenius's notable achievement is that he restored the premises of the Sorites to the usual order of Fig. I., creating a lasting legacy more enduring than bronze, and indeed securing a very inexpensive form of immortality.
The common Sorites, then, being in Fig. I., its rules follow from those of Fig. I:
The common Sorites, then, shown in Fig. I., follows its rules from those in Fig. I:
(1) Only one premise can be particular; and, if any, only that in which the minor term occurs.
(1) Only one premise can be specific; and, if there is one, it’s the one that includes the minor term.
For, just as in Fig I., a particular premise anywhere else involves undistributed Middle.
For just like in Fig I., a specific premise from anywhere else includes an undistributed Middle.
(2) Only one premise can be negative; and, if any, only that in which the major term occurs.
(2) Only one premise can be negative, and if there is one, it can only be the one that contains the major term.
For if there were two negative premises, at the point where the second entered the chain of argument there must be a syllogism with two negative premises, which is contrary to Rule 5; whilst if one premise be negative it must be that which contains the major term, for the same reason as in Fig. I., namely, that the conclusion will be negative, and that therefore only a negative major premise can prevent illicit process of the major term.
For if there are two negative premises, at the point where the second one enters the argument, there must be a syllogism with two negative premises, which goes against Rule 5; while if one premise is negative, it has to be the one that contains the major term, for the same reason as in Figure I., which is that the conclusion will be negative, and therefore only a negative major premise can stop the illicit process of the major term.
If we expand a Sorites into its constituent syllogisms, the conclusions successively suppressed will reappear as major premises; thus:
If we break a Sorites down into its individual syllogisms, the conclusions that were gradually left out will come back as major premises; so:
(1) | An animal is a substance; |
A quadruped is an animal: | |
∴ | A quadruped is a substance. |
(2) | A quadruped is a substance; |
A horse is a quadruped: | |
∴ | A horse is a substance. |
(3) | A horse is a substance: |
Bucephalus is a horse: | |
∴ | Bucephalus is a substance. |
This suffices to show that the Protosyllogism of a Goclenian Sorites is an Enthymeme of the Third Order; after which the argument is a chain of Enthymemes of the First Order, or of the First and Third combined, since the conclusions as well as the major premises are omitted, except in the last one.
This is enough to show that the Protosyllogism of a Goclenian Sorites is an Enthymeme of the Third Order; after that, the argument is a series of Enthymemes of the First Order, or a mix of the First and Third, since the conclusions and major premises are left out, except in the last one.
Lest it should be thought that the Sorites is only good for arguments so frivolous as the above, I subjoin an example collected from various parts of Mill's Political Economy:—
Lest anyone think that the Sorites is only useful for silly arguments like the ones above, I’ll add an example gathered from different sections of Mill's Political Economy:—
The profit rate depends on labor costs;
The investment of money depends on the profit rate;
Wages are determined by the amount of capital invested:
Therefore, wages depend on how efficient the labor is.
Had it occurred to Mill to construct this Sorites, he would have modified his doctrine of the wages-fund, and would have spared many critics the malignant joy of refuting him.
Had it occurred to Mill to create this Sorites, he would have adjusted his theory of the wages-fund and would have saved many critics the spiteful pleasure of arguing against him.
All M is P; | All N is p; | ||
All S is M: | All S is N: | ||
∴ | All S is P. | ∴ | All S is p. |
Now, by the principle of Contradiction, S cannot be P and p (not-P): therefore, if both of the above syllogisms are sound, S, as the subject of contradictory attributes, is logically an impossible thing. The contradictory conclusions are called, respectively, Thesis and Antithesis.
Now, according to the principle of Contradiction, S cannot be P and not P at the same time. Therefore, if both of the previous syllogisms are valid, S, as the subject of opposing qualities, is logically impossible. The contradictory conclusions are referred to as Thesis and Antithesis.
To come to particulars, we may argue: (1) that a constitution which is at once a monarchy, an aristocracy and a democracy, must comprise the best elements of all three forms; and must, therefore, be the best of all forms of government: the British Constitution is, therefore, the best of all. But (2) such a constitution must also comprise the worst elements of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy; and, therefore, must be the worst of all forms. Are we, then, driven to conclude that the British Constitution, thus proved to be both the best and worst, does not really exist at all, being logically impossible? The proofs seem equally cogent; but perhaps neither the best nor the worst elements of the simpler constitutions need be present in our own in sufficient force to make it either good or bad.
To get into the specifics, we could argue: (1) that a constitution that combines monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy must include the best features of all three forms; therefore, it should be the best form of government overall: the British Constitution is, consequently, the best of all. However, (2) such a constitution must also incorporate the worst aspects of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; therefore, it must be the worst of all forms. Are we left to conclude that the British Constitution, shown to be both the best and the worst, doesn't actually exist at all, being logically impossible? The arguments seem equally convincing; but perhaps neither the best nor the worst aspects of simpler constitutions are significantly present in our own to make it definitively good or bad.
Again:
Again:
(1) | Every being who is responsible for his actions is free; |
Man is responsible for his actions: | |
∴ | Man is free. |
(2) | Every being whose actions enter into the course of nature is not free; |
Man is such a being: | |
∴ | Man is not free. |
Does it, then, follow that 'Man,' as the subject of contradictory attributes, is a nonentity? This doctrine, or something like it, has been seriously entertained; but if to any reader it seem extravagant (as it certainly does to me), he will no doubt find an error in the above arguments. Perhaps the major term is ambiguous.
Does it follow that 'Man,' with all these contradictory traits, is a nonentity? This idea, or something similar, has been taken seriously by some; but if any reader finds it outrageous (and I certainly do), they will likely spot a flaw in the arguments above. Maybe the main term is unclear.
For other examples it is enough to refer to the Critique of Pure Reason, where Kant sets out the Antinomies of Rational Cosmology. But even if we do not agree with Kant that the human understanding, in attempting to deal with certain subjects beyond its reach, inevitably falls into such contradictory reasonings; yet it can hardly be doubted that we not unfrequently hold opinions which, if logically developed, result in Antinomies. And, accordingly, the Antinomy, if it cannot be imputed to Reason herself, may be a very fair, and a very wholesome argumentum ad hominem. It was the favourite weapon of the Pyrrhonists against the dogmatic philosophies that flourished after the death of Aristotle.
For other examples, it’s enough to refer to the Critique of Pure Reason, where Kant outlines the Antinomies of Rational Cosmology. But even if we don’t agree with Kant that human understanding, when trying to tackle certain topics that are beyond its capabilities, inevitably falls into contradictory reasoning, it’s hard to deny that we often hold opinions that, if logically worked out, lead to Antinomies. Therefore, the Antinomy, if it can’t be attributed to Reason itself, could serve as a valid and useful argumentum ad hominem. This was the preferred tool of the Pyrrhonists against the dogmatic philosophies that thrived after Aristotle’s death.
CHAPTER XII
CONDITIONAL SYLLOGISMS
A Hypothetical Syllogism is one that consists of a Hypothetical Major Premise, a Categorical Minor Premise, and a Categorical Conclusion. Two Moods are usually recognised the Modus ponens, in which the antecedent of the hypothetical major premise is affirmed; and the Modus tollens, in which its consequent is denied.
A Hypothetical Syllogism is one that includes a Hypothetical Major Premise, a Categorical Minor Premise, and a Categorical Conclusion. Two Moods are typically recognized: Modus ponens, where the antecedent of the hypothetical major premise is affirmed; and Modus tollens, where its consequent is denied.
(1) Modus ponens, or Constructive.
Modus ponens, or Constructive.
A is B:
∴ C = D.
If Aristotle's reasoning is conclusive, Plato's theory of Ideas is erroneous;
If Aristotle's reasoning is convincing, then Plato's theory of Ideas is wrong;
∴ Plato's theory of Ideas is incorrect.
Rule of the Modus ponens: The antecedent of the major premise being affirmed in the minor premise, the consequent is also affirmed in the conclusion.
Rule of the Modus ponens: When the first part of the major premise is confirmed in the minor premise, the second part is also confirmed in the conclusion.
(2) Modus tollens, or Destructive.
Modus tollens, or Destructive logic.
C isn't D:
A ≠ B.
Justice isn't just a number:
∴ Pythagoras is untrustworthy.
Rule of the Modus tollens: The consequent of the major premise being denied in the minor premise, the antecedent is denied in the conclusion.
Rule of the Modus tollens: When the consequent of the major premise is denied in the minor premise, the antecedent is denied in the conclusion.
By using negative major premises two other forms are obtainable: then, either by affirming the antecedent or by denying the consequent, we draw a negative conclusion.
By using negative major premises, we can get two other forms: either by affirming the antecedent or by denying the consequent, we reach a negative conclusion.
Thus (Modus ponens): | (Modus tollens): |
If A is B, C is not D; | If A is B, C is not D; |
A is B: | C is D: |
∴ C is not D. | ∴ A is not B. |
Further, since the antecedent of the major premise, taken by itself, may be negative, it seems possible to obtain four more forms, two in each Mood, from the following major premises:
Further, since the first part of the major premise, when considered alone, can be negative, it seems possible to get four more forms, two in each Mood, from the following major premises:
If A isn't B, then C isn't D.
But since the quality of a Hypothetical Proposition is determined by the quality of its consequent, not at all by the quality of its antecedent, we cannot get from these two major premises any really new Moods, that is to say, Moods exhibiting any formal difference from the four previously expounded.
But since the quality of a Hypothetical Proposition is determined by the quality of its consequent, not at all by the quality of its antecedent, we can’t derive any genuinely new Moods from these two major premises, meaning Moods that show any formal difference from the four previously discussed.
It is obvious that, given the hypothetical major premise—
It is obvious that, given the hypothetical major premise—
we cannot, by denying the antecedent, infer a denial of the consequent. That A is B, is a mark of C being D; but we are not told that it is the sole and indispensable condition of it. If men read good books, they acquire knowledge; but they may acquire knowledge by other means, as by [Pg 149]observation. For the same reason, we cannot by affirming the consequent infer the affirmation of the antecedent: Caius may have acquired knowledge; but we cannot thence conclude that he has read good books.
we can't, by denying the antecedent, conclude that the consequent is false. If A is B, it shows that C is D; but we aren't told that it’s the only essential condition for it. If people read good books, they gain knowledge; however, they can gain knowledge in other ways, like through [Pg 149]observation. For the same reason, we can't assume that by affirming the consequent, we confirm the antecedent: Caius may have gained knowledge, but we can't conclude that he has read good books from that.
To see this in another light, let us recall chap. v. § 4, where it was shown that a hypothetical proposition may be translated into a categorical one; whence it follows that a Hypothetical Syllogism may be translated into a Categorical Syllogism. Treating the above examples thus, we find that the Modus ponens (with affirmative major premise) takes the form of Barbara, and the Modus tollens the form of Camestres:
To look at this from a different perspective, let’s remember chap. v. § 4, where it was demonstrated that a hypothetical statement can be converted into a categorical one; thus, it follows that a Hypothetical Syllogism can be transformed into a Categorical Syllogism. Examining the examples above in this way, we see that the Modus ponens (with an affirmative major premise) takes the shape of Barbara, and the Modus tollens takes the shape of Camestres:
Modus ponens. | Barbara. |
If A is B, C is D; | The case of A being B is a case of C being D; |
A is B: | This is a situation where A is B: |
∴ C is D. | ∴ This is a case of C being D. |
Now if, instead of this, we affirm the consequent, to form the new minor premise,
Now, if instead of this, we affirm the consequence to create the new minor premise,
there will be a Syllogism in the Second Figure with two affirmative premises, and therefore the fallacy of undistributed Middle. Again:
there will be a Syllogism in the Second Figure with two affirmative premises, and therefore the fallacy of undistributed Middle. Again:
Modus tollens. | Camestres. |
If A is B, C is D; | The case of A being B is a case of C being D: |
C ≠ D: | This isn't an example of C being D: |
∴ A is not B. | ∴ This is not a case of A being B. |
But if, instead of this, we deny the antecedent, to form the new minor premise,
But if, instead of this, we reject the first part, to create the new minor premise,
By thus reducing the Hypothetical Syllogism to the Categorical form, what is lost in elegance is gained in intelligibility. For, first, we may justify ourselves in speaking of the hypothetical premise as the major, and of the categorical premise as the minor; since in the categorical form they contain respectively the major and minor terms. And, secondly, we may justify ourselves in treating the Hypothetical Syllogism as a kind of Mediate Inference, in spite of the fact that it does not exhibit two terms compared by means of a third; since in the Categorical form such terms distinctly appear: a new term ('This') emerges in the position of the minor; the place of the Middle is filled by the antecedent of the major premise in the Modus ponens, and by the consequent in the Modus tollens.
By reducing the Hypothetical Syllogism to a Categorical form, we might lose some elegance, but we gain clarity. First, we can justify calling the hypothetical premise the major premise and the categorical premise the minor one, since in the categorical form they contain the major and minor terms respectively. Second, we can justify treating the Hypothetical Syllogism as a type of Mediate Inference, even though it doesn’t show two terms being compared through a third; in the Categorical form, such terms clearly appear: a new term ('This') shows up in the position of the minor; the antecedent of the major premise takes on the role of the Middle in Modus ponens, and the consequent in Modus tollens.
The mediate element of the inference in a Hypothetical Syllogism consists in asserting, or denying, the fulfilment of a given condition; just as in a Categorical syllogism to identify the minor term with the Middle is a condition of the major term's being predicated of it. In the hypothetical proposition—
The mediate element of the inference in a Hypothetical Syllogism consists in asserting or denying whether a certain condition is met; just as in a Categorical syllogism, identifying the minor term with the Middle is necessary for the major term to be predicated of it. In the hypothetical proposition—
the Antecedent, A is B, is the conditio sufficiens, or mark, of the Consequent, C is D; and therefore the Consequent, C is D, is a conditio sine qua non of the antecedent, A is B; and it is by means of affirming the former condition, or else denying the latter, that a conclusion is rendered possible.
the Antecedent, A is B, is the sufficient condition, or indicator, of the Consequent, C is D; and therefore the Consequent, C is D, is a necessary condition of the antecedent, A is B; and it is through affirming the first condition, or denying the second, that a conclusion can be reached.
Indeed, we need not say that the element of mediation consists in affirming, or denying, the fulfilment of a given condition: it is enough to say 'in affirming.' For thus to explain the Modus tollens, reduce it to the Modus ponens (contrapositing the major premise and obverting the minor):
Indeed, we don’t need to mention that the process of mediation involves asserting, or rejecting, the satisfaction of a specific condition: it’s sufficient to just say 'in asserting.' This way, we can explain the Modus tollens by reducing it to the Modus ponens (switching the major premise and reversing the minor):
Celarent. | |
If A is B, then C is D: | The case of C being not-D is |
∴ If C is not-D, A is not B; | not a situation where A is B; |
C is not D: | This is a case of C being not-D: |
∴ A is not B. | ∴ This is not a case of A being B. |
The above four forms commonly treated of as Hypothetical Syllogisms, are called by Ueberweg and Dr. Keynes 'Hypothetico-Categorical.' Ueberweg restricts the name 'Hypothetical' simply (and Dr. Keynes the name 'Conditional') to such Syllogisms as the following, having two Hypothetical Premises:
The four types mentioned above, often referred to as Hypothetical Syllogisms, are termed 'Hypothetico-Categorical' by Ueberweg and Dr. Keynes. Ueberweg limits the term 'Hypothetical' (and Dr. Keynes the term 'Conditional') to Syllogisms like the following, which have two Hypothetical Premises:
If A is B, then E is F.
If we recognise particular hypothetical propositions (see chap. v. § 4), it is obvious that such Syllogisms may be constructed in all the Moods and Figures of the Categorical Syllogism; and of course they may be translated into Categoricals. We often reason in this hypothetical way. For example:
If we acknowledge specific hypothetical statements (see chap. v. § 4), it's clear that these Syllogisms can be formed in all the Moods and Figures of the Categorical Syllogism; and obviously, they can be converted into Categoricals. We frequently reason in this hypothetical manner. For instance:
If the prices of produce go up, rents will also go up.
But the function of the Hypothetical Syllogism (commonly so called), as also of the Disjunctive Syllogism (to be discussed in the next section) is to get rid of the conditional element of the premises, to pass from suspense to certainty, and obtain a decisive categorical conclusion; whereas these Syllogisms with two hypothetical premises leave us still with a hypothetical conclusion. This circumstance seems to ally them more closely with Categorical[Pg 152] Syllogisms than with those that are discussed in the present chapter. That they are Categoricals in disguise may be seen by considering that the above syllogism is not materially significant, unless in each proposition the word 'If' is equivalent to 'Whenever.' Accordingly, the name 'Hypothetical Syllogism,' is here employed in the older usage.
But the purpose of the Hypothetical Syllogism (commonly known as such), as well as the Disjunctive Syllogism (which will be discussed in the next section), is to eliminate the conditional aspect of the premises, move from uncertainty to certainty, and reach a clear categorical conclusion. In contrast, these Syllogisms with two hypothetical premises still leave us with a hypothetical conclusion. This situation seems to connect them more closely with Categorical[Pg 152] Syllogisms rather than those being discussed in this chapter. They can be seen as Categoricals in disguise by noting that the above syllogism is not materially significant unless in each proposition the word 'If' can be interpreted as 'Whenever.' Therefore, the term 'Hypothetical Syllogism' is used here in the older sense.
How many Moods are to be recognised in this kind of argument depends on whether the alternatives of the Disjunctive Premise are regarded as mutually exclusive or possibly coincident. In saying 'Either A is B, or C is D,' do we mean 'either, but not both,' or 'either, it may be both'? (See chap. v. § 4.)
How many moods we can identify in this kind of argument depends on whether we see the options in the disjunctive premise as mutually exclusive or potentially overlapping. When we say 'Either A is B, or C is D,' are we implying 'either, but not both,' or 'either, and it could be both'? (See chap. v. § 4.)
When the alternatives of the Disjunctive are not exclusive, we have only the
When the options in the Disjunctive aren't exclusive, we have only the
Modus tollendo ponens. | |||
Either | A is B, or | C is D; | |
A is not B | (or C is not D): | ||
∴ | C is D | (or A is B). |
Either wages fall, or the weaker hands are dismissed;
Either wages go down, or the less capable workers are let go;
∴ The less experienced individuals are overlooked.
But we cannot argue—
But we can't argue—
Therefore, the weaker hands are not overlooked;
since in 'hard times' both events may happen together.
since in 'hard times' both events can occur simultaneously.
Rule of the Modus tollendo ponens: If one alternative be denied, the other is affirmed.
Rule of the Modus tollendo ponens: If one option is rejected, the other is accepted.
When, however, the alternatives of the Disjunctive are mutually exclusive, we have also the
When the options in the Disjunctive are mutually exclusive, we also have the
Modus ponendo tollens. | ||
Either | A is B, or C is D; | |
A is B (or C is D): | ||
∴ | C is not D (or A is not B). |
Either the Tories or the Whigs win the election;
Either the Tories or the Whigs will win the election;
The Whigs do not prevail.
We may also, of course, argue as above in the Modus tollendo ponens—
We can also, of course, argue as mentioned in the Modus tollendo ponens—
But in this example, to make the Modus tollendo ponens materially valid, it must be impossible that the election should result in a tie. The danger of the Disjunctive Proposition is that the alternatives may not, between them, exhaust the possible cases. Only contradictory alternatives are sure to cover the whole ground.
But in this example, to make the Modus tollendo ponens materially valid, it has to be impossible for the election to end in a tie. The risk with the Disjunctive Proposition is that the options might not fully cover all possible scenarios. Only contradictory alternatives are guaranteed to encompass everything.
Rule of the Modus ponendo tollens: If one alternative be affirmed, the other is denied.
Rule of the Modus ponendo tollens: If one option is affirmed, the other is negated.
Since a disjunctive proposition may be turned into a hypothetical proposition (chap. v. § 4,) a Disjunctive Syllogism may be turned into a Hypothetical Syllogism:
Since a disjunctive statement can be transformed into a conditional statement (chap. v. § 4,) a Disjunctive Syllogism can be converted into a Hypothetical Syllogism:
Modus tollendo ponens. | Modus ponens. |
Either A is B, or C is D; | If A is not B, C is D; |
A isn't B: | A ≠ B |
∴ C = D. | ∴ C is D. |
Similarly the Modus ponendo tollens is equivalent to that kind of Modus ponens which may be formed with a negative major premise; for if the alternatives of a disjunctive proposition be exclusive, the corresponding hypothetical be affirmative or negative:
Similarly, the Modus ponendo tollens is equivalent to the type of Modus ponens that can be created with a negative major premise; because if the options of a disjunctive statement are exclusive, the corresponding hypothetical can be either affirmative or negative:
Modus ponendo tollens. | Modus ponens. |
Either A is B, or C is D; | If A is B, C is not D; |
A is B: | A is B: |
∴ C isn't D. | ∴ C is not D. |
Hence, finally, a Disjunctive Syllogism being equivalent to a Hypothetical, and a Hypothetical to a Categorical; a Disjunctive Syllogism is equivalent and reducible to a Categorical. It is a form of Mediate Inference in the same sense as the Hypothetical Syllogism is; that is to say, the conclusion depends upon an affirmation, or denial, of the fulfilment of a condition implied in the disjunctive major premise.
Hence, finally, a Disjunctive Syllogism is equivalent to a Hypothetical, and a Hypothetical is equivalent to a Categorical; therefore, a Disjunctive Syllogism can be converted into a Categorical. It is a type of Mediate Inference just like the Hypothetical Syllogism; in other words, the conclusion relies on confirming or denying the fulfillment of a condition suggested in the disjunctive major premise.
§ 3. The Dilemma is perhaps the most popularly interesting of all forms of proof. It is a favourite weapon of orators and wits; and "impaled upon the horns of a dilemma" is a painful situation in which every one delights to see his adversary. It seems to have been described by Rhetoricians before finding its way into works on Logic; and Logicians, to judge from their diverse ways of defining it, have found some difficulty in making up their minds as to its exact character.
§ 3. The Dilemma is probably the most engaging form of proof. It’s a favorite tool for speakers and clever thinkers, and being "caught on the horns of a dilemma" is an uncomfortable position that everyone enjoys seeing their opponent in. It seems to have been detailed by Rhetoricians before appearing in Logic texts, and Logicians, judging by their various definitions, have struggled to agree on its precise nature.
There is a famous Dilemma employed by Demosthenes, from which the general nature of the argument may be gathered:
There is a well-known dilemma used by Demosthenes, from which the general nature of the argument can be understood:
So, he’s either being inconsistent or unpatriotic.
That is, reduced to symbols:
That is, simplified to symbols:
But either A is B, or E is F; ∴ Either C is D or G is H (Complex Constructive).
This is a compound Conditional Syllogism, which may be analysed as follows:
This is a compound Conditional Syllogism, which can be analyzed as follows:
Either A is B or E is F. | |
Suppose that E is not F: | Suppose that A is not B: |
Then A is B. | Then E is F. |
But if A is B, C is D; | But if E is F, G is H; |
(A is B): | (E is F): |
∴ C equals D. | ∴ G equals H. |
∴ Either C is D or G is H. |
A Dilemma, then, is a compound Conditional Syllogism, having for its Major Premise two Hypothetical Propositions, and for its Minor Premise a Disjunctive Proposition, whose alternative terms either affirm the Antecedents or deny the Consequents of the two Hypothetical Propositions forming the Major Premise.
A dilemma is a complex conditional syllogism that has two hypothetical propositions as its major premise and a disjunctive proposition as its minor premise. The alternative terms in the disjunctive proposition either affirm the antecedents or deny the consequents of the two hypothetical propositions in the major premise.
The hypothetical propositions in the major premise, may have all four terms distinct (as in the above example); and then the conclusion is a disjunctive proposition, and the Dilemma is said to be Complex. Or the two hypothetical propositions may have a common antecedent or a common consequent; and then the conclusion is a categorical proposition, and the Dilemma is said to be Simple.
The hypothetical statements in the major premise can have all four terms different (like in the example above); in this case, the conclusion is a disjunctive statement, and the Dilemma is considered Complex. Alternatively, the two hypothetical statements might share a common antecedent or a common consequent; in that situation, the conclusion is a categorical statement, and the Dilemma is considered Simple.
Again, the alternatives of the disjunctive minor premise may be affirmative or negative: if affirmative, the Dilemma is called Constructive; and if negative, Destructive.
Again, the options in the disjunctive minor premise can be either affirmative or negative: if it's affirmative, the Dilemma is called Constructive; and if it's negative, it's called Destructive.
Using, then, only affirmative hypothetical propositions in the major premise, there are four Moods:
Using only positive hypothetical statements in the major premise, there are four Moods:
1. The Simple Constructive—
The Basic Build—
But either A is B, or E is F:
∴ C is D.
But either the Tories or the Whigs will win:
There will be no innovation.
Either C is D or G is H.
But either appearance is everything, or there is something real beyond consciousness:
Either reality is an illusion, or it's impossible to know it.
3. Simple Destructive—
3. Basic Destructive—
But either C is not D, or E is not F:
∴ A isn’t B.
Therefore, you can't trust table-rappers.
4. Complex Destructive—
4. Complex Destructive—
But either C isn't D, or G isn't H:
Either A is not B, or E is not F.
But either virtue isn't rewarded, or the villain doesn't win.
Either poetic justice doesn't happen, or we aren't reflecting reality accurately.
Such are the four Moods of the Dilemma that emerge if we only use affirmative hypotheticals for the major premise; but, certainly, it is often quite as natural to [Pg 157]employ two negative hypotheticals (indeed, one might be affirmative and the other negative; but waive that); and then four more moods emerge, all having negative conclusions. It is needless to intimidate the reader by drawing up these four moods in battle array: they always admit of reduction to the foregoing moods by obverting the hypotheticals. Still, by the same process we may greatly decrease the number of moods of the Categorical Syllogism; and just as some Syllogisms are most simply expressed in Celarent or Cesare, so some Dilemmas are most simply stated with negative major premises—e.g., The example of a Simple Constructive Dilemma above given would run more naturally thus: If the Tories win, the Government will not innovate; and if the Whigs, the Lords will not let them: and similarly Demosthenes' Dilemma—If Æschines joined, he is not consistent; and if he did not, he is not patriotic. Moreover, the propriety of recognising Dilemmas with negative major premises, follows from the above analysis of the Dilemma into a combination of Conditional Syllogisms, even if (as in § 1 of this chapter) we take account of only four Moods of the Hypothetical Syllogism.
Such are the four Moods of the Dilemma that come up if we only use affirmative hypotheticals for the main premise; however, it’s often just as natural to [Pg 157]use two negative hypotheticals (in fact, one could be affirmative and the other negative; but let’s skip that for now); and then four more moods appear, all leading to negative conclusions. There’s no need to overwhelm the reader by laying out these four moods in detail: they can always be reduced to the previous moods by flipping the hypotheticals. Similarly, we can significantly reduce the number of moods of the Categorical Syllogism; and just as some Syllogisms are best expressed in Celarent or Cesare, some Dilemmas are most clearly stated with negative major premises—for example, the example of a Simple Constructive Dilemma given above would sound more natural as: If the Tories win, the Government will not innovate; and if the Whigs win, the Lords will not allow it: likewise, Demosthenes’ Dilemma—If Æschines joins, he is not consistent; and if he does not join, he is not patriotic. Moreover, the justification for recognizing Dilemmas with negative major premises stems from the above breakdown of the Dilemma into a combination of Conditional Syllogisms, even if (as in § 1 of this chapter) we only consider four Moods of the Hypothetical Syllogism.
In the rhetorical use of the Dilemma, it may be observed that the disjunction in the minor premise ought to be obvious, or (at any rate) easily acceptable to the audience. Thus, Either the Tories or the Whigs will win; Either Æschines joined in the rejoicings, or he did not; such propositions are not likely to be disputed. But if the orator must stop to prove his minor premise, the smacking effect of this figure (if the expression be allowed) will be lost. Hence the minor premises of other examples given above are only fit for a select audience. That Either ghosts are not spirits, or they do not exert mechanical energy, supposes a knowledge of the principle, generally taught by physical philosophers, that only matter is the vehicle of energy; and that Either appearance is all, or there is substance beyond consciousness, is a doctrine which only metaphysical [Pg 158]philosophers could be expected to understand, and upon which they could not be expected to agree. However, the chief danger is that a plausible disjunction may not be really such as to exclude any middle ground: Either the Tories or the Whigs win, is bad, if a tie be possible; though in the above argument this is negligible, seeing that a tie cannot directly cause innovations. Either Æschines joined in the rejoicings, or he did not, does not allow for a decent conformity with the public movement where resistance would be vain; yet such conformity as need not be inconsistent with subsequent condemnation of the proceedings, nor incompatible with patriotic reserve founded on a belief that the rejoicings are premature and ominous.
In the rhetorical use of the Dilemma, it's important that the disjunction in the minor premise is clear or, at least, easily accepted by the audience. So, Either the Tories or the Whigs will win; Either Æschines joined in the celebrations, or he didn't; these kinds of statements are unlikely to be challenged. But if the speaker has to take time to prove his minor premise, the impact of this figure (if that term can be used) will be lost. Therefore, the minor premises in the other examples mentioned earlier are only suitable for a select audience. The statement Either ghosts are not spirits, or they do not exert mechanical energy assumes an understanding of the principle, usually taught by physical philosophers, that only matter carries energy; and the statement Either appearance is all, or there is substance beyond consciousness, is a belief that only metaphysical [Pg 158]philosophers might be expected to grasp, and they are unlikely to agree on it. However, the main risk is that a seemingly reasonable disjunction might actually allow for a middle ground: Either the Tories or the Whigs win is problematic if a tie is possible; although in this case, it's minor since a tie can't directly lead to changes. Either Æschines joined in the celebrations, or he didn't doesn't consider a proper alignment with public sentiment where resistance would be pointless; yet such alignment can coexist with later condemnation of the actions, nor interfere with a patriotic stance based on the belief that the celebrations are premature and foreboding.
Another rhetorical consideration is, that the alternatives of the disjunctive conclusion of a Complex Dilemma should both point the same way, should be equally distasteful or paradoxical. 'Either inconsistent or unpatriotic': horrid words to a politician! 'Either no reality or no possible knowledge of it': very disappointing to an anxious inquirer! Thus the disjunctive conclusion is as bad for an opponent as the categorical one in a Simple Dilemma.
Another thing to think about is that the options in the disjunctive conclusion of a Complex Dilemma should lead to the same conclusion and should be equally unpleasant or contradictory. "Either inconsistent or unpatriotic": terrible phrases for a politician! "Either no reality or no possible knowledge of it": really disappointing for someone who’s looking for answers! So, the disjunctive conclusion is just as damaging for an opponent as the categorical one in a Simple Dilemma.
Logicians further speak of the Trilemma, with three Hypotheticals and a corresponding triple Disjunction; and of a Polylemma, with any further number of perplexities. But anyone who has a taste for logical forms may have it amply gratified in numerous text-books.
Logicians also talk about the Trilemma, which involves three hypotheticals and a corresponding triple disjunction; and the Polylemma, which includes any additional number of complexities. However, anyone interested in logical forms can find plenty of satisfaction in various textbooks.
CHAPTER XIII
TRANSITION TO INDUCTION
§ 1. Having now discussed Terms, Propositions, Immediate and Mediate Inferences, and investigated the conditions of formal truth or consistency, we have next to consider the conditions of material truth: whether (or how far) it is possible to arrive at propositions that accurately represent the course of nature or of human life. Hitherto we have dealt with no sort of proof that gives any such assurance. A valid syllogism guarantees the truth of its conclusion, provided the premises be true: but what of the premises? The relation between the premises of a valid syllogism and its conclusion is the same as the relation between the antecedent and consequent of a hypothetical proposition. If A is B, C is D: grant that A is B, and it follows that C is D; and, similarly, grant the premises of a syllogism, and the conclusion follows. Again, grant that C is not D, and it follows that A is not B; and, similarly, if the conclusion of a valid syllogism be false, it follows that one, or other, or both of the premises must be false. But, once more, grant that C is D, and it does not follow that A is B; so neither, if the conclusion of a syllogism be true, does it follow that the premises are. For example:—
§ 1. Now that we've talked about Terms, Propositions, Immediate and Mediate Inferences, and examined the conditions for formal truth or consistency, we need to look at the conditions for material truth: whether (or how much) it’s possible to come up with statements that accurately reflect the natural world or human life. So far, we haven't provided any proof that offers such assurance. A valid syllogism ensures the truth of its conclusion, as long as the premises are true: but what about the premises? The relationship between the premises of a valid syllogism and its conclusion is the same as the relationship between the antecedent and consequent of a hypothetical proposition. If A is B, C is D: assume A is B, and then C is D; likewise, assume the premises of a syllogism, and the conclusion follows. Again, if you assume C is not D, then it follows that A is not B; similarly, if the conclusion of a valid syllogism is false, then one or both of the premises must be false. However, if you assume C is D, it does not necessarily mean that A is B; similarly, if the conclusion of a syllogism is true, it does not mean that the premises are true either. For example:—
Mathematics is a precise science.
∴ Sociology is a precise science.
Here the major premise is true, but the minor is false, and the conclusion is false. In both cases, however, whether the conclusion be true or false, it equally follows from the premises, if there is any cogency in Barbara. The explanation of this is, that Barbara has only formal cogency; and that whether the conclusion of that, or any other valid mood, shall be true according to fact and experience, depends upon how the form is filled up. How to establish the premises, then, is a most important problem; and it still remains to be solved.
Here, the main premise is true, but the minor one is false, leading to a false conclusion. In both situations, whether the conclusion is true or false, it still logically follows from the premises if there’s any validity in Barbara. The reason for this is that Barbara only has formal validity; whether the conclusion, or any other valid structure, is true in reality and experience depends on how the structure is filled in. Finding a way to establish the premises is a crucial problem, and it still needs to be solved.
§ 2. We may begin by recalling the distinction between the denotation and connotation of a general term: the denotation comprising the things or events which the term is a name for; the connotation comprising the common qualities on account of which these things are called by the same name. Obviously, there are very few general terms whose denotation is exhaustively known; since the denotation of a general term comprises all the things that have its connotation, or that ever have had, or that ever will have it, whether they exist here, or in Australia, or in the Moon, or in the utmost stars. No one has examined all men, all mammoths, all crystals, all falling bodies, all cases of fever, all revolutions, all stars—nor even all planets, since from time to time new ones are discerned. We have names for animals that existed long before there were men to observe them, and of which we know only a few bones, the remains of multitudinous species; and for others that may continue to exist when men have disappeared from the earth.
§ 2. Let’s start by remembering the difference between the denotation and connotation of a general term: the denotation refers to the things or events that the term names; the connotation refers to the common qualities that link these things with the same name. Clearly, there are very few general terms whose denotation we fully understand; since the denotation of a general term includes all the things that share its connotation, whether they currently exist, existed in the past, or will exist in the future, whether they are here, in Australia, on the Moon, or in distant stars. No one has studied all humans, all mammoths, all crystals, all falling bodies, all instances of fever, all revolutions, all stars—nor even all planets, since new ones are occasionally discovered. We have names for animals that lived long before humans were around to observe them, of which we only know a few bones, the remnants of countless species; and for others that might still exist when humans are gone from the earth.
If, indeed, we definitely limit the time, or place, or [Pg 161]quantity of matter to be explored, we may sometimes learn, within the given limits, all that there is to know: as all the bones of a particular animal, or the list of English monarchs hitherto, or the names of all the members of the House of Commons at the present time. Such cases, however, do not invalidate the above logical truth that few general terms are exhaustively known in their denotation; for the very fact of assigning limits of time and place impairs the generality of a term. The bones of a certain animal may be all examined, but not the bones of all animals, nor even of one species. The English monarchs that have reigned hitherto may be known, but there may be many still to reign.
If we really limit the time, place, or [Pg 161]amount of information to explore, we might sometimes learn everything there is to know within those limits: like all the bones of a specific animal, the list of English monarchs up to now, or the names of all the current members of the House of Commons. However, these examples don't change the fact that few general terms are fully understood in their meaning; because just the act of setting time and place boundaries reduces the generality of a term. We can examine all the bones of one particular animal, but not all animals, or even all bones of one species. We may know the English monarchs who have ruled so far, but there could be many more who will reign in the future.
The general terms, then, with which Logic is chiefly concerned, the names of Causes and Kinds, such as gravitation, diseases, social events, minerals, plants and animals, stand for some facts that are, or have been, known, and for a great many other similar ones that have not been, and never will be, known. The use of a general term depends not upon our direct knowledge of everything comprised in its denotation, but upon our readiness to apply it to anything that has its connotation, whether we have seen the thing or not, and even though we never can perceive it; as when a man talks freely of the ichthyosaurus, or of the central heat of planets, or of atoms and ether.
The general terms that Logic mainly deals with, like gravity, diseases, social events, minerals, plants, and animals, represent some known facts and many others that we either don’t know or will never know. The use of a general term isn’t based on our direct knowledge of everything it includes, but rather on our willingness to apply it to anything that fits its meaning, whether we have seen it or not, and even if we can never actually perceive it; like when someone casually talks about the ichthyosaurus, the core heat of planets, or atoms and ether.
Hence Universal Propositions, which consist of general terms, deceive us, if we suppose that their predicates are directly known to be related to all the facts denoted by their subjects. In exceptional cases, in which the denotation of a subject is intentionally limited, such exhaustive direct knowledge may be possible; as that "all the bones of a certain animal consist of phosphate of lime," or that every member of the present Parliament wears a silk hat. But what predication is possible concerning the hats of all members of Parliament from the beginning? Ordinarily, then, whilst the relation of predicate to subject has been [Pg 162]observed in some cases, in much the greater number of cases our belief about it depends upon something besides observation, or may be said (in a certain sense) to be taken on trust.
Therefore, universal propositions, which are made up of general terms, can mislead us if we assume that we directly know how their predicates relate to all the facts represented by their subjects. In rare cases where the definition of a subject is deliberately limited, such complete direct knowledge might be achievable; for instance, stating that "all the bones of a specific animal are made of phosphate of lime," or that every member of the current Parliament wears a silk hat. But what can we actually say about the hats of all members of Parliament throughout history? Generally, while the relationship between the predicate and subject has been [Pg 162]observed in some instances, in most cases, our belief about it relies on more than just observation, or can be considered (in a certain sense) to be taken on trust.
'All rabbits are herbivorous': why do we believe that? We may have seen a few wild rabbits feeding: or have kept tame ones, and tried experiments with their diet; or have read of their habits in a book of Natural History; or have studied the anatomy and physiology of the digestive system in many sorts of animals: but with whatever care we add testimony and scientific method to our own observation, it still remains true that the rabbits observed by ourselves and others are few in comparison with those that live, have lived and will live. Similarly of any other universal proposition; that it 'goes beyond the evidence' of direct observation plainly follows from the fact that the general terms, of which such propositions consist, are never exhaustively known in their denotation. What right have we then to state Universal Propositions? That is the problem of Inductive Logic.
'All rabbits are herbivores': why do we believe that? We might have seen a few wild rabbits eating, or kept domesticated ones and experimented with their diets, or read about their behavior in a Natural History book, or studied the anatomy and physiology of the digestive systems in various animals. Yet, no matter how much we add evidence and scientific methods to our own observations, it's still true that the rabbits we've seen and others have seen are just a tiny fraction of those that exist, have existed, and will exist. The same goes for any other universal statement; it clearly follows from the fact that the general terms in such statements are never fully known in their meaning. So what right do we have to make universal statements? That is the challenge of Inductive Logic.
§ 3. Universal Propositions, of course, cannot always be proved by syllogisms; because to prove a universal proposition by a syllogism, its premises must be universal propositions; and, then, these must be proved by others. This process may sometimes go a little way, thus: All men are mortal, because All animals are; and All animals are mortal, because All composite bodies are subject to dissolution. Were there no limit to such sorites, proof would always involve a regressus ad infinitum, for which life is too short; but, in fact, prosyllogisms soon fail us.
§ 3. Universal propositions can't always be proven through syllogisms. In order to prove a universal proposition with a syllogism, its premises have to also be universal propositions, which then need to be proven by others. This process can sometimes go as follows: All men are mortal, because All animals are; and All animals are mortal, because All composite bodies are subject to dissolution. If there were no limit to such chains of reasoning, proof would always lead to a regressus ad infinitum, and life is too short for that. However, in reality, prosyllogisms quickly run out.
Clearly, the form of the Syllogism must itself be misleading if the universal proposition is so: if we think that premises prove the conclusion because they themselves have been established by detailed observation, we are mistaken. The consideration of any example will show this. Suppose any one to argue:
Clearly, the structure of the Syllogism can be misleading if the universal proposition is so: if we believe that premises support the conclusion because they have been confirmed by detailed observation, we are wrong. Looking at any example will demonstrate this. Imagine someone argues:
Camels eat plants.
Have we, then, examined all ruminants? If so, we must have examined all camels, and cannot need a syllogism to prove their herbivorous nature: instead of the major premise proving the conclusion, the proof of the conclusion must then be part of the proof of the major premise. But if we have not examined all ruminants, having omitted most giraffes, most deer, most oxen, etc., how do we know that the unexamined (say, some camels) are not exceptional? Camels are vicious enough to be carnivorous; and indeed it is said that Bactrian camels will eat flesh rather than starve, though of course their habit is herbivorous.
Have we actually looked at all ruminants? If we have, then we must have looked at all camels, and we shouldn't need a syllogism to prove they're herbivores: instead of the major premise proving the conclusion, the proof of the conclusion should be part of the proof of the major premise. But if we haven't examined all ruminants, leaving out most giraffes, most deer, most oxen, etc., how do we know that the unexamined ones (like some camels) aren't exceptions? Camels can be aggressive enough to be carnivorous; in fact, it's said that Bactrian camels will eat meat rather than starve, although their usual diet is herbivorous.
Or, again, it is sometimes urged that—
Or, it is also sometimes suggested that—
This is manifestly a prediction: at present Britain flourishes, and shows no signs of decay. Yet a knowledge of its decay seems necessary, to justify any one in asserting the given premise. If it is a question whether Britain will decay, to attempt (while several empires still flourish) to settle the matter by asserting that all empires decay, seems to be 'a begging of the question.' But although this latter case is a manifest prediction, it does not really differ from the former one; for the proof that camels are herbivorous has no limits in time. If valid, it shows not only that they are, but also that they will be, herbivorous.
This is clearly a prediction: right now, Britain is thriving and shows no signs of decline. However, understanding its decline seems necessary to justify anyone claiming the given premise. If the question is whether Britain will decline, trying to resolve it (while several empires are still thriving) by stating that all empires decline seems like 'a begging of the question.' But even though this latter case is a clear prediction, it doesn't really differ from the former; because the proof that camels are herbivores doesn't have a time limit. If it's valid, it shows not only that they are herbivores but also that they will continue to be.
Hence, to resort to a dilemma, it may be urged: If all the facts of the major premise of any syllogism have been examined, the syllogism is needless; and if some of them have not been examined, it is a petitio principii. But either all have been examined, or some have not. Therefore; the syllogism is either useless or fallacious.
Hence, to present a dilemma, it can be argued: If all the facts of the major premise of any syllogism have been examined, then the syllogism is unnecessary; and if some of them have not been examined, it is a petitio principii. But either all have been examined, or some have not. Therefore, the syllogism is either useless or flawed.
§ 4. A way of escape from this dilemma is provided [Pg 164]by distinguishing between the formal and material aspects of the syllogism considered as a means of proof. It begs the question formally, but not materially; that is to say, if it be a question whether camels are herbivorous, and to decide it we are told that 'all ruminants are,' laying stress upon the 'all,' as if all had been examined, though in fact camels have not been, then the question as to camels is begged. The form of a universal proposition is then offered as evidence, when in fact the evidence has not been universally ascertained. But if in urging that 'all ruminants are herbivorous' no more is meant than that so many other ruminants of different species are known to be herbivorous, and that the ruminant stomach is so well adapted to a coarse vegetable diet, that the same habit may be expected in other ruminants, such as camels, the argument then rests upon material evidence without unfairly implying the case in question. Now the nature of the material evidence is plainly this, that the resemblance of camels to deer, oxen, etc., in chewing the cud, justifies us in believing that they have a further resemblance in feeding on herbs; in other words, we assume that resemblance is a ground of inference.
§ 4. A way to escape this dilemma is provided [Pg 164]by distinguishing between the formal and material aspects of the syllogism as a means of proof. It poses the question formally, but not materially; that is, if the question is whether camels are herbivorous, and to answer this we're told that 'all ruminants are,' emphasizing the 'all' as if every ruminant had been examined, when in reality camels haven't been, then the question about camels is unfairly assumed. The structure of the universal statement is presented as proof, even though the proof hasn't been universally verified. But if saying that 'all ruminants are herbivorous' simply means that many other ruminants of different species are known to be herbivorous, and that the ruminant stomach is well suited for a coarse vegetable diet, making it reasonable to expect that other ruminants, like camels, would have similar habits, then the argument is based on material evidence without misleadingly implying the case in question. The nature of the material evidence is clear: the similarity of camels to deer, oxen, etc., in chewing cud gives us reason to believe they also resemble them in eating herbs; in other words, we assume that similarity is a basis for inference.
Another way of putting this difficulty which we have just been discussing, with regard to syllogistic evidence, is to urge that by the Laws of Syllogism a conclusion must never go beyond the premises, and that therefore no progress in knowledge can ever be established, except by direct observation. Now, taking the syllogism formally, this is true: if the conclusion go beyond the premises, there must be either four terms, or illicit process of the major or minor term. But, taking it materially, the conclusion may cover facts which were not in view when the major premise was laid down; facts of which we predicate something not as the result of direct observation, but because they resemble in a certain way those facts which had been shown to carry the predicate when the major premise was formed.
Another way to express the difficulty we've just discussed regarding syllogistic evidence is to say that according to the Laws of Syllogism, a conclusion must never exceed the premises. Therefore, no advancement in knowledge can be established except through direct observation. When we look at the syllogism formally, this is true: if the conclusion extends beyond the premises, there must be either four terms or an illicit process involving the major or minor term. However, if we consider it materially, the conclusion may address facts that weren't considered when the major premise was established—facts that we make claims about not as a result of direct observation, but because they share similarities with those facts that were confirmed to carry the predicate when the major premise was created.
'What sort of resemblance is a sufficient ground of inference?' is, therefore, the important question alike in material Deduction and in Induction; and in endeavouring to answer it we shall find that the surest ground of inference is resemblance of causation. For example, it is due to causation that ruminants are herbivorous. Their instincts make them crop the herb, and their stomachs enable them easily to digest it; and in these characters camels are like the other ruminants.
'What kind of resemblance is enough for making inferences?' is, therefore, the key question in both material deduction and induction; and in trying to answer it, we’ll discover that the most reliable basis for inference is the resemblance of causation. For instance, it’s because of causation that ruminants eat plants. Their instincts lead them to graze on herbs, and their stomachs are designed to digest it easily; and in these traits, camels are similar to other ruminants.
§ 5. In ch. ix, § 3, the Dictum de omni et nullo was stated: 'Whatever may be predicated of a term distributed may be predicated of anything that can be identified with that term.' Nothing was there said (as nothing was needed) of the relations that might be implied in the predication. But now that it comes to the ultimate validity of predication, we must be clear as to what these relations are; and it will also be convenient to speak no longer of terms, as in Formal Logic, but of the things denoted. What relations, then, can be determined between concrete facts or phenomena (physical or mental) with the greatest certainty of general truth; and what axioms are there that sanction mediate inferences concerning those relations?
§ 5. In ch. ix, § 3, the Dictum de omni et nullo was stated: 'Anything that can be said about a distributed term can also be said about anything that can be identified with that term.' There was no mention (nor was it necessary) of the relationships that might be implied in this statement. However, when we discuss the ultimate validity of these statements, we need to clarify what those relationships are; and it will be useful to stop referring to terms, as in Formal Logic, and start talking about the things they represent. So, what relationships can we establish between concrete facts or phenomena (whether physical or mental) with the greatest certainty of general truth, and what axioms support indirect conclusions about those relationships?
In his Logic (B. II. c. 2, § 3) Mill gives as the axiom of syllogistic reasoning, instead of the Dictum: "A thing which co-exists with another thing, which other co-exists with a third thing, also co-exists with that third thing." Thus the peculiar properties of Socrates co-exist with the attributes of man, which co-exist with mortality: therefore, Socrates is mortal. But, again, he says that the ground of the syllogism is Induction; that man is mortal is an induction. And, further, the ground of Induction is causation; the law of causation is the ultimate major premise of every sound induction. Now causation is the principle of the succession of phenomena: how, then, can the syllogism rest on an axiom concerning co-existence? On reflection, too, it must appear that 'Man is mortal'[Pg 166] predicates causation: the human constitution issues in death.
In his Logic (B. II. c. 2, § 3), Mill presents the axiom of syllogistic reasoning, which replaces the Dictum: "If one thing co-exists with another thing, and that other thing co-exists with a third thing, then the first thing also co-exists with the third thing." For example, the unique characteristics of Socrates co-exist with the qualities of humanity, which in turn co-exists with mortality: therefore, Socrates is mortal. However, he also states that the basis of the syllogism is Induction; the idea that humans are mortal is an instance of induction. Moreover, the foundation of Induction is causation; the law of causation serves as the ultimate major premise of any valid induction. Causation refers to the principle of the sequence of events: so how can the syllogism depend on a principle concerning co-existence? Upon reflection, it should also be evident that 'Humans are mortal' [Pg 166] suggests causation: the human nature leads to death.
The explanation of this inconsistency may perhaps be found in the history of Mill's work. Books I. and II. were written in 1831; but being unable at that time to explain Induction, he did not write Book III. until 1837-8. Then, no doubt, he revised the earlier Books, but not enough to bring his theory of the syllogism into complete agreement with the theory of Induction; so that the axiom of co-existence was allowed to stand.
The reason for this inconsistency might be found in the history of Mill's work. Books I and II were written in 1831; however, since he couldn't explain Induction at that time, he didn't write Book III until 1837-1838. Then, he likely revised the earlier books, but not sufficiently to align his theory of the syllogism completely with the theory of Induction, which is why the axiom of coexistence was left unchanged.
Mill also introduced the doctrine of Natural Kinds as a ground of Induction supplementary, at least provisionally, to causation; and to reasoning about Kinds, or Substance and Attribute, his axiom of co-existence is really adapted. Kinds are groups of things that agree amongst themselves and differ from all others in a multitude of qualities: these qualities co-exist, or co-inhere, with a high degree of constancy; so that where some are found others may be inferred. Their co-inherence is not to be considered an ultimate fact; for, "since everything which occurs is determined by laws of causation and collocations of the original causes, it follows that the co-existences observable amongst effects cannot themselves be the subject of any similar set of laws distinct from laws of causation" (B. III. c. 5, § 9). According to the theory of evolution (worked out since Mill wrote), Kinds—that is, species of plants, animals and minerals—with their qualities are all due to causation. Still, as we can rarely, or never, trace the causes with any fullness or precision, a great deal of our reasoning, as, e.g., about men and camels, does in fact trust to the relative permanence of natural Kinds as defined by co-inhering attributes.
Mill also introduced the idea of Natural Kinds as a supplemental basis for induction, at least temporarily, alongside causation; and his principle of co-existence is really suited for reasoning about Kinds, or Substance and Attribute. Kinds are groups of things that share similarities among themselves and differ from all others in many qualities: these qualities co-exist, or co-inhere, with a high degree of consistency; therefore, if some are found, others can be inferred. Their co-inherence shouldn't be seen as an ultimate fact; because "since everything that happens is determined by laws of causation and the arrangements of the original causes, it follows that the co-existences we observe among effects cannot themselves be the subject of any similar set of laws distinct from laws of causation" (B. III. c. 5, § 9). According to the theory of evolution (developed since Mill wrote this), Kinds—that is, species of plants, animals, and minerals—along with their qualities are all the result of causation. Still, since we can rarely, if ever, fully or precisely trace the causes, much of our reasoning, such as about humans and camels, indeed relies on the relative permanence of natural Kinds as defined by co-inhering attributes.
To see this more clearly, we should consider that causation and natural Kinds are not at present separable; propositions about causation in concrete phenomena (as distinct from abstract 'forces') always involve the assumption of[Pg 167] Kinds. For example—'Water rusts iron,' or the oxygen of water combines with iron immersed in it to form rust: this statement of causation assumes that water, oxygen, iron, and iron-rust are known Kinds. On the other hand, the constitution of every concrete thing, and manifestly of every organised body, is always undergoing change, that is, causation, upon which fact its properties depend.
To understand this better, we need to recognize that causation and natural kinds can't currently be separated. Claims about causation in real-world phenomena (as opposed to abstract 'forces') always assume the existence of[Pg 167] kinds. For example—'Water rusts iron,' or the oxygen in water reacts with iron submerged in it to create rust: this statement about causation assumes that water, oxygen, iron, and rust are all defined kinds. On the flip side, the makeup of every tangible thing, especially every living organism, is constantly changing, which means causation is ongoing and its properties depend on this fact.
How, then, can we frame principles of mediate reasoning, about such things? So far as we consider them as Kinds, it is enough to say: Whatever can be identified as a specimen of a known substance or Kind has the properties of that Kind. So far as we consider them as in the relation of causation, we may say: Whatever relation of events can be identified with the relation of cause and effect is constant. And these principles may be generalised thus: Whatever is constantly related to a phenomenon (cause or Kind), determined by certain characters, is related in the same way to any phenomenon, that has the same characters. Taking this as axiom of the syllogism materially treated, we see that herbivorousness, being constantly related to ruminants, is constantly related to camels; mortality to man and, therefore, to Socrates; rusting to the immersion of iron in water generally and, therefore, to this piece of iron. Nota notæ, nota rei ipsius is another statement of the same principle; still another is Mill's axiom, "Whatever has a mark has what it is a mark of." A mark is anything (A) that is never found without something else (B)—a phenomenon constantly related to another phenomenon—so that wherever A is found, B may be expected: human nature is a mark of mortality.
How can we establish principles of indirect reasoning about these topics? As far as we see them as categories, we can simply say: Anything that can be recognized as an example of a known substance or category has the properties of that category. When we look at them in terms of causal relationships, we can state: Any pattern of events that can be recognized as a cause-and-effect relationship is consistent. These principles can be generalized like this: Anything that is consistently related to a phenomenon (either a cause or a category), based on certain characteristics, is related in the same way to any phenomenon that shares those same characteristics. Using this as a foundational point for a syllogism, we can see that herbivorousness, which is consistently linked to ruminants, is also consistently linked to camels; mortality is related to humans and, therefore, to Socrates; rusting is linked to the immersion of iron in water in general and, thus, to this piece of iron. Nota notæ, nota rei ipsius is another way of expressing this principle; another example is Mill's statement, "Anything that has a mark also has what it marks." A mark is anything (A) that is never found without something else (B)—a phenomenon that is consistently related to another phenomenon—so whenever A appears, we can expect B: human nature is a mark of mortality.
§ 6. The Syllogism has sometimes been discarded by those who have only seen that, as formally stated, it is either useless or fallacious: but those who also perceive its material grounds retain and defend it. In fact, great advantages are gained by stating an argument as a formal syllogism. For, in the first place, we can then examine [Pg 168]separately the three conditions on which the validity of the argument depends:
§ 6. Some people have dismissed the syllogism, thinking that, as it's formally stated, it’s either useless or misleading; but those who understand its underlying principles still support and defend it. In fact, there are significant benefits to presenting an argument as a formal syllogism. First of all, it allows us to examine [Pg 168]each of the three conditions that determine the validity of the argument separately:
(1) Are the Premises so connected that, if they are true, the Conclusion follows? This depends upon the formal principles of chap. x.
(1) Are the Premises so connected that, if they are true, the Conclusion follows? This depends on the formal principles of chap. x.
(2) Is the Minor Premise true? This question can only arise when the minor premise is a real proposition; and then it may be very difficult to answer. Water rusts iron; but is the metal we are now dealing with a fair specimen of iron? Few people, comparatively, know how to determine whether diamonds, or even gold or silver coins, are genuine. That Camels are ruminants is now a verbal proposition to a Zoologist, but not to the rest of us; and to the Zoologist the ascertaining of the relation in which camels stand to such ruminants as oxen and deer, was not a matter of analysing words but of dissecting specimens. What a long controversy as to whether the human race constitutes a Family of the Primates! That 'the British Empire is an empire' affords no matter for doubt or inquiry; but how difficult to judge whether the British Empire resembles Assyria, Egypt, Rome, Spain in those characters and circumstances that caused their downfall!
(2) Is the Minor Premise true? This question only comes up when the minor premise is a real statement, and it can be pretty tough to answer. Water rusts iron, but is the metal we’re dealing with a good example of iron? Only a few people know how to determine if diamonds, or even gold or silver coins, are real. The statement that Camels are ruminants is just a wording issue for a Zoologist, but not for the rest of us; for the Zoologist, figuring out how camels relate to ruminants like oxen and deer isn’t about analyzing words but about studying specimens. What a long debate there has been over whether humans belong to the Family of Primates! The fact that 'the British Empire is an empire' isn't up for debate; but it's really tough to judge whether the British Empire shares the characteristics and circumstances that led to the downfall of Assyria, Egypt, Rome, or Spain!
(3) Is the Major Premise true? Are all ruminants herbivorous? If there be any exceptions to the rule, camels are likely enough to be among the exceptions. And here the need of Inductive Logic is most conspicuous: how can we prove our premises when they are universal propositions? Universal propositions, however, are also involved in proving the minor premise: to prove a thing to be iron, we must know the constant reactions of iron.
(3) Is the Major Premise true? Are all ruminants herbivores? If there are any exceptions to the rule, camels are likely to be among them. This is where the importance of Inductive Logic becomes really clear: how can we prove our premises when they are universal statements? Universal statements are also necessary for proving the minor premise: to prove something is iron, we need to understand the consistent reactions of iron.
A second advantage of the syllogism is, that it makes us fully aware of what an inference implies. An inference must have some grounds, or else it is a mere prejudice; but whatever the grounds, if sufficient in a particular case, they must be sufficient for all similar cases, they must [Pg 169]admit of being generalised; and to generalise the grounds of the inference, is nothing else than to state the major premise. If the evidence is sufficient to justify the argument that camels are herbivorous because they are ruminants, it must also justify the major premise, All ruminants are herbivorous; for else the inference cannot really depend merely upon the fact of ruminating. To state our evidence syllogistically, then, must be possible, if the evidence is mediate and of a logical kind; and to state it in this formal way, as depending on the truth of a general principle (the major premise), increases our sense of responsibility for the inference that is thus seen to imply so much; and if any negative instances lie within our knowledge, we are the more likely to remember them. The use of syllogisms therefore tends to strengthen our reasonings.
A second benefit of the syllogism is that it makes us fully aware of what an inference involves. An inference must have some basis; otherwise, it's just a bias. But whatever the basis is, if it's enough in a specific case, it has to be applicable to all similar cases, and it must be generalizable. Generalizing the basis of the inference is simply stating the major premise. If the evidence is strong enough to support the argument that camels are herbivorous because they are ruminants, it should also support the major premise, "All ruminants are herbivorous"; otherwise, the inference can't solely rely on the fact that they ruminate. So, we should be able to express our evidence in a syllogistic format if the evidence is logically based. Presenting it this way, as based on the truth of a general principle (the major premise), makes us more responsible for the inference, which is recognized as carrying significant weight; and if we know of any counterexamples, we are more likely to remember them. Therefore, using syllogisms tends to strengthen our reasoning.
A third advantage is, that to formulate an accurate generalisation may be useful to others: it is indeed part of the systematic procedure of science. The memoranda of our major premises, or reasons for believing anything, may be referred to by others, and either confirmed or refuted. When such a memorandum is used for further inferences, these inferences are said, in the language of Formal Logic, to be drawn from it, as if the conclusion were contained in our knowledge of the major premise; but, considering the limited extent of the material evidence, it is better to say that the inference is drawn according to the memorandum or major premise, since the grounds of the major premise and of the conclusion are in fact the same (Mill: Logic, B. II. c. 3). Inductive proofs may be stated in Syllogisms, and inductive inferences are drawn according to the Law of Causation.
A third advantage is that creating an accurate generalization can be helpful to others: it's actually part of the systematic process of science. The notes on our main premises, or reasons for believing something, can be referenced by others and either confirmed or disproven. When this note is used for further conclusions, those conclusions are said, in the language of Formal Logic, to be drawn from it, as if the conclusion was contained in our understanding of the main premise; however, given the limited nature of the material evidence, it’s more accurate to say that the inference is drawn according to the note or main premise, since the basis for both the main premise and the conclusion is essentially the same (Mill: Logic, B. II. c. 3). Inductive proofs can be expressed in Syllogisms, and inductive inferences are derived according to the Law of Causation.
§ 7. To assume that resemblance is a ground of inference, and that substance and attribute, or cause and effect, are phenomena constantly related, implies belief in the Uniformity of Nature. The Uniformity of Nature cannot be defined, and is therefore liable to be misunder[Pg 170]stood. In many ways Nature seems not to be uniform: there is great variety in the sizes, shapes, colours and all other properties of things: bodies falling in the open air—pebbles, slates, feathers—descend in different lines and at different rates; the wind and weather are proverbially uncertain; the course of trade or of politics, is full of surprises. Yet common maxims, even when absurd, testify to a popular belief that the relations of things are constant: the doctrine of St. Swithin and the rhyme beginning 'Evening red and morning grey,' show that the weather is held to be not wholly unpredictable; as to human affairs, it is said that 'a green Yule makes a fat churchyard,' that 'trade follows the flag,' and that 'history repeats itself'; and Superstition knows that witches cannot enter a stable-door if a horse-shoe is nailed over it, and that the devil cannot cross a threshold inscribed with a perfect pentagram. But the surest proof of a belief in the uniformity of nature is given by the conduct of men and animals; by that adherence to habit, custom and tradition, to which in quiet times they chiefly owe their safety, but which would daily disappoint and destroy them, if it were not generally true that things may be found where they have been left and that in similar circumstances there are similar events.
§ 7. Believing that similarity is a basis for inference and that substance and attribute, or cause and effect, are phenomena that are consistently related suggests a belief in the Uniformity of Nature. The Uniformity of Nature can't be precisely defined, making it prone to misinterpretation. In many respects, nature doesn't appear to be uniform: there is significant variation in sizes, shapes, colors, and other characteristics of things; objects falling in open air—like pebbles, slates, and feathers—drop in different paths and at different speeds; the wind and weather are well-known for being unpredictable; the paths of trade and politics are full of surprises. However, common sayings, even when nonsensical, reflect a popular belief that relationships between things are stable: the doctrine of St. Swithin and the rhyme starting with 'Evening red and morning grey,' indicate that the weather is thought to have some predictability; concerning human matters, it's said that 'a green Yule makes a fat churchyard,' that 'trade follows the flag,' and that 'history repeats itself'; and superstition holds that witches can't enter a stable door if a horseshoe is nailed over it, and the devil can't cross a threshold marked with a perfect pentagram. Yet, the strongest evidence of belief in the uniformity of nature is seen in the behavior of humans and animals; their adherence to habit, custom, and tradition, which in stable times primarily ensures their safety, would often lead to disappointment and harm if it weren't generally true that things can be found where they were left and that similar situations lead to similar outcomes.
Now this general belief, seldom distinctly conceived, for the most part quite unconscious (as a principle), merely implied in what men do, is also the foundation of all the Sciences; which are entirely occupied in seeking the Laws (that is, the Uniformities) of Nature. As the uniformity of nature cannot be defined, it cannot be proved; the most convincing evidence in its favour is the steady progress made by Science whilst trusting in it. Nevertheless, what is important is not the comprehensive but indeterminate notion of Uniformity so much as a number of First Principles, which may be distinguished in it as follows:
Now, this general belief, which is rarely clearly defined and mostly subconscious (as a principle), is simply reflected in what people do and serves as the foundation of all the Sciences, which focus entirely on discovering the Laws (or Uniformities) of Nature. Since the uniformity of nature cannot be defined, it can't be proven; the best evidence for it is the consistent progress made by Science while relying on it. However, what's important isn't the broad yet vague idea of Uniformity, but rather a set of First Principles that can be identified within it as follows:
(1) The Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle (ch. vi. § 3) declare that in a given relation to a given [Pg 171]phenomenon any two or more other phenomena are incompatible (B is not A and a); whilst the given phenomenon either stands related to another phenomenon or not (B is either A or a). It is not only a matter of Logic but of fact that, if a leaf is green, it is not under the same conditions red or blue, and that if it is not green it is some other colour.
(1) The Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle (ch. vi. § 3) state that in relation to a specific [Pg 171]phenomenon, any two or more other phenomena cannot coexist (B is not A and a); meanwhile, the given phenomenon either relates to another phenomenon or it doesn't (B is either A or a). It’s not just a logical issue, but a factual matter: if a leaf is green, it can't be red or blue under the same conditions, and if it’s not green, it must be another color.
(2) Certain Axioms of Mediate Evidence: as, in Mathematics, 'that magnitudes equal to the same magnitude are equal to one another'; and, in Logic, the Dictum or its material equivalent.
(2) Certain Axioms of Mediate Evidence: as, in Mathematics, 'magnitudes that are equal to the same magnitude are equal to each other'; and, in Logic, the Dictum or its material equivalent.
(3) That all Times and all Spaces are commensurable; although in certain relations of space (as π) the unit of measurement must be infinitely small.—If Time really trotted with one man and galloped with another, as it seems to; if space really swelled in places, as De Quincey dreamed that it did; life could not be regulated, experience could not be compared and science would be impossible. The Mathematical Axioms would then never be applicable to space or time, or to the objects or processes that fill them.
(3) That all times and all spaces can be measured against each other; although in some cases of space (like π) the unit of measurement has to be incredibly small. If time truly walked alongside one person and raced ahead with another, as it appears to; if space really expanded in certain spots, as De Quincey envisioned; life couldn’t be organized, experiences couldn’t be compared, and science wouldn’t be possible. The mathematical principles would then never apply to space or time, or to the things or processes that occupy them.
(4) The Persistence of Matter and Energy: the physical principle that, in all changes of the universe, the quantities of Matter and Energy (actual and potential, so-called) remain the same.—For example, as to matter, although dew is found on the grass at morning without any apparent cause, and although a candle seems to burn away to a scrap of blackened wick, yet every one knows that the dew has been condensed from vapour in the air, and that the candle has only turned into gas and smoke. As to energy, although a stone thrown up to the housetop and resting there has lost actual energy, it has gained such a position that the slightest touch may bring it to the earth again in the same time as it took to travel upwards; so on the house-top it is said to have potential energy. When a boiler works an engine, every time the piston is thrust forward (mechanical energy), an equivalent in heat (molecular [Pg 172]energy) is lost. But for the elucidation of these principles, readers must refer to treatises of Chemistry and Physics.
(4) The Persistence of Matter and Energy: the scientific principle that, throughout all changes in the universe, the amounts of Matter and Energy (both actual and potential) remain constant. For instance, regarding matter, even though dew appears on the grass in the morning without any clear cause, and although a candle seems to burn down to just a blackened wick, everyone understands that the dew has condensed from vapor in the air, and the candle has simply turned into gas and smoke. As for energy, while a stone thrown up to the roof loses actual energy, it attains a position where the slightest nudge can bring it back to the ground in the same time it took to rise; thus, it’s said to have potential energy while on the roof. When a boiler operates an engine, every time the piston moves forward (mechanical energy), an equivalent amount of heat (molecular energy) is lost. However, for a clearer understanding of these principles, readers should consult textbooks on Chemistry and Physics.
(5) Causation, a special form of the foregoing principles of the persistence of matter and energy, we shall discuss in the next chapter. It is not to be conceived of as anything occult or noumenal, but merely as a special mode of the uniformity of Nature or experience.
(5) Causation, a specific aspect of the earlier principles regarding the persistence of matter and energy, will be discussed in the next chapter. It shouldn't be viewed as anything mysterious or beyond perception, but rather as a unique way that the uniformity of Nature or experience operates.
(6) Certain Uniformities of Co-existence; but for want of a general principle of Co-existence, corresponding to Causation (the principle of Succession), we can only classify these uniformities as follows:
(6) Certain Similarities of Co-existence; but due to the lack of a general principle of Co-existence that corresponds to Causation (the principle of Succession), we can only categorize these similarities as follows:
(a) The Geometrical; as that, in a four-sided figure, if the opposite angles are equal, the opposite sides are equal and parallel.—Countless similar uniformities of co-existence are disclosed by Geometry. The co-existent facts do not cause one another, nor are they jointly caused by something else; they are mutually involved: such is the nature of space.
(a) The Geometrical; in a four-sided shape, if the opposite angles are equal, then the opposite sides are also equal and parallel. — Geometry reveals countless similar uniformities that exist together. These facts do not cause each other, nor are they caused by something else; they are interconnected: that’s the nature of space.
(b) Universal co-inherences among the properties of concrete things.—The chief example is the co-inherence of gravity with inertia in all material bodies. There is, I believe, no other entirely satisfactory case; but some good approximations to such uniformity are known to physical science.
(b) Universal co-inherences among the properties of concrete things.—The main example is the co-inherence of gravity with inertia in all material bodies. I believe there isn't another completely satisfactory case; however, physical science does know some good approximations to this uniformity.
(c) Co-existence due to Causation; such as the positions of objects in space at any time.—The houses of a town are where they are, because they were put there; and they remain in their place as long as no other causes arise strong enough to remove or destroy them. Similarly, the relative positions of rocks in geological strata, and of trees in a forest, are due to causes.
(c) Co-existence due to Causation; like the positions of objects in space at any time.—The houses in a town are located where they are because they were built there, and they stay in that location as long as no other factors come up that are strong enough to move or destroy them. Likewise, the relative positions of rocks in geological layers and of trees in a forest are the result of certain causes.
(d) The co-inherence of properties in Natural Kinds; which we call the constitution, defining characters, or specific nature of such things.—Oxygen, platinum, sulphur and the other elements; water, common salt, alcohol and other compounds; the various species of plants and animals: all these are known to us as different groups of [Pg 173]co-inherent properties. It may be conjectured that these groupings of properties are also due to causation, and sometimes the causes can be traced: but very often the causes are still unknown; and, until resolved into their causes, they must be taken as necessary data in the investigation of nature. Laws of the co-inherence of the properties of Kinds do not, like laws of causation, admit of methodical proof upon their own principles, but only by constancy in experience and statistical probability (c. xix, § 4).
(d) The interconnection of properties in Natural Kinds, which we refer to as the constitution, defining characteristics, or specific nature of these things. Oxygen, platinum, sulfur, and the other elements; water, table salt, alcohol, and other compounds; the various species of plants and animals: all of these are recognized as different groups of [Pg 173]interconnected properties. It can be speculated that these groupings of properties also arise from causation, and sometimes the causes can be identified. However, often the causes remain unknown; and until they are identified, they need to be considered as essential data in the study of nature. The laws governing the interconnection of properties in Kinds do not, like laws of causation, allow for systematic proof based on their own principles, but only through consistency in experience and statistical likelihood (c. xix, § 4).
(e) There are also a few cases in which properties co-exist in an unaccountable way, without being co-extensive with any one species, genus, or order: as most metals are whitish, and scarlet flowers are wanting in fragrance. (On this § 7, see Venn's Empirical Logic, c. 4.)
(e) There are also a few instances where characteristics exist together in an unexplained way, without being tied to any single species, genus, or category: like how most metals appear whitish, and scarlet flowers lack fragrance. (On this § 7, see Venn's Empirical Logic, c. 4.)
(1) Every inference takes for granted an order of Nature corresponding with it; and every attempt to explain the origin of anything assumes that it is the transformation of something else: so that uniformity of order and conservation of matter and energy are necessary presuppositions of reasoning.
(1) Every inference assumes a natural order that matches it; and any effort to explain the origin of anything assumes that it is the change from something else: so the uniformity of order and the conservation of matter and energy are essential assumptions of reasoning.
(2) On the rise of philosophic reflection, these tacit presuppositions are first taken as dogmas, and later as postulates of scientific generalisation, and of the architectonic unification of science. Here they are indispensable.
(2) With the growth of philosophical thinking, these unspoken assumptions are initially accepted as dogmas and later as foundational ideas for scientific generalization and the overall organization of science. They are essential here.
(3) The presuppositions or postulates are, in some measure, verifiable in practical life and in scientific demonstration, and the better verifiable as our methods become more exact.
(3) The assumptions or basic principles can somewhat be verified in real life and through scientific proof, and they become easier to verify as our methods become more precise.
(4) There is a cause of this belief that cannot be said to contain any evidence for it, namely, the desire to find in Nature a foundation for confidence in our own power to foresee and to control events.
(4) There is a reason for this belief that cannot be said to have any evidence supporting it, which is the desire to find in Nature a basis for trusting in our own ability to predict and control events.
CHAPTER XIV
CAUSATION
For (1) the Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are implied in all logical operations, and need no further explication.
For (1) the Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are implied in all logical operations and don't need any further explanation.
(2) That one thing is a mark of another or constantly related to it, must be established by Induction; and the surest of all marks is a Cause. So that the application of the axiom of the Syllogism in particular cases requires, when most valid, a previous appeal to Causation.
(2) That one thing indicates another or is consistently related to it must be established through Induction; and the most reliable indicator is a Cause. Therefore, applying the axiom of the Syllogism in specific cases usually requires, for it to be most valid, a prior reference to Causation.
(3) The uniformity of Space and of Time is involved in Causation, so far as we conceive Causation as essentially matter in motion—for motion is only known as a traversing of space in time; and so far as forces vary in any way according to the distance between bodies; so that if space and time were not uniform, causation would be irregular. Not that time and space are agents, but they are conditions of every agent's operation.
(3) The consistency of Space and Time is tied to Causation, as long as we understand Causation as primarily involving matter in motion—because motion is only understood as moving through space over time; and as long as forces change based on the distance between objects; if space and time weren't consistent, causation would be unpredictable. It's not that time and space are active forces; they are simply conditions under which every agent operates.
(4) The persistence of Matter and Energy, being nothing else than Causation in the general movement of the world, is applied under the name of that principle in explaining any particular limited phenomenon, such as a soap-bubble, or a thunderstorm, or the tide.
(4) The ongoing existence of Matter and Energy, which is just Causation in the overall movement of the world, is referred to by that principle when explaining specific limited phenomena like a soap bubble, a thunderstorm, or the tide.
(5) As to co-existences, the Geometrical do not belong to Logic: those involved in the existence of plants, animals, and inorganic bodies, must, as far as possible, be traced to causes; and so, of course, must the relative positions [Pg 175]of objects in space at any time: and what Co-existences remain do not admit of methodical inductive treatment; they will be briefly discussed in chap. xix.
(5) When it comes to co-existences, the Geometrical ones don't fit into Logic: the existences of plants, animals, and inanimate objects must, as much as possible, be linked to causes; and naturally, the relative positions [Pg 175] of objects in space at any given time must also be linked in this way. The co-existences that are left don't lend themselves to systematic inductive analysis; they will be briefly discussed in chap. xix.
Causation, then, is that mode or aspect of the Uniformity of Nature which especially concerns us in Induction; and we must make it as definite as possible. It is nothing occult, but merely a convenient name for phenomena in a particular relation to other phenomena, called their effect. Similarly, if the word 'force' is sometimes used for convenience in analysing causation, it means nothing more than something in time and space, itself moving, or tending to move, or hindering or accelerating other things. If any one does not find these words convenient for the purpose, he can use others.
Causation is the part of the Uniformity of Nature that particularly matters to us in Induction, and we need to clarify it as much as possible. It's not something mysterious; it's just a handy term for phenomena that are related to other phenomena, which we call their effect. Likewise, when the term 'force' is sometimes used to make understanding causation easier, it simply refers to something in time and space that is either moving, trying to move, or affecting other things by speeding them up or slowing them down. If someone doesn’t find these terms useful, they can use different ones.
(1) A Cause is relative to a given phenomenon, called the Effect. Logic has no method for investigating the cause of the universe as a whole, but only of a part or epoch of it: we select from the infinite continuum of Nature any portion that is neither too large nor too small for a trained mind to comprehend. The magnitude of the phenomenon may be a matter of convenience. If the cause of disease in general be too wide a problem, can fevers be dealt with; or, if that be too much, is typhus within the reach of inquiry? In short, how much can we deal with accurately?
(1) A cause is related to a specific phenomenon, called the effect. Logic doesn't have a way to investigate the cause of the universe as a whole, only of a part or time period within it: we choose from the endless continuum of nature any portion that’s neither too big nor too small for a trained mind to understand. The size of the phenomenon might just be a matter of convenience. If the cause of disease in general is too broad a question, can we focus on fevers; or, if that’s still too much, is typhus manageable for inquiry? In short, how much can we accurately handle?
(2) The given phenomenon is always an event; that is to say, not a new thing (nothing is wholly new), but a change in something, or in the relative position of things. We may ask the cause of the phases of the moon, of the freezing of water, of the kindling of a match, of a deposit of chalk, of the differentiation of species. To inquire the cause of France being a republic, or Russia an autocracy, implies that these countries were once otherwise governed, or had no government: to inquire the cause of the earth being [Pg 176]shaped like an orange, implies that the matter of the earth had once another shape.
(2) The phenomenon we’re discussing is always an event; in other words, it’s not something completely new (nothing is truly new), but a change in something or in how things are positioned relative to each other. We can ask why the moon has different phases, why water freezes, why a match ignites, why chalk accumulates, or how species differentiate. To ask why France is a republic or why Russia is an autocracy suggests that these countries were once governed differently or not at all; to question why the earth is [Pg 176]shaped like an orange suggests that the earth once had a different shape.
(3) The Cause is antecedent to the Effect, which accordingly is often called its consequent. This is often misunderstood and sometimes disputed. It has been said that the meaning of 'cause' implies an 'effect,' so that until an effect occurs there can be no cause. But this is a blunder; for whilst the word 'cause' implies 'effect,' it also implies the relative futurity of the effect; and effect implies the relative priority of the cause. The connotation of the words, therefore, agrees well enough with Mill's doctrine. In fact, the danger is that any pair of contrasted words may suggest too strongly that the phenomena denoted are separate in Nature; whereas every natural process is continuous. If water, dripping from the roof wears away a stone, it fell on the roof as rain; the rain came from a condensing cloud; the cloud was driven by the wind from the sea, whence it exhaled; and so on. There is no known beginning to this, and no break in it. We may take any one of these changes, call it an effect, and ask for its cause; or call it a cause, and ask for its effect. There is not in Nature one set of things called causes and another called effects; but every change is both cause (or a condition) of the future and effect of the past; and whether we consider an event as the one or the other, depends upon the direction of our curiosity or interest.
(3) The Cause comes before the Effect, which is often referred to as its Effect. This is frequently misunderstood and sometimes debated. Some have claimed that the meaning of 'cause' implies an 'effect,' so until an effect happens, there can be no cause. But that’s a mistake; while the word 'cause' suggests 'effect,' it also indicates that the effect is in the future, and the effect indicates that the cause is in the past. The meanings of these words align well enough with Mill's theory. In fact, the danger is that any pair of contrasting words might imply too strongly that the phenomena they describe are separate in nature, while every natural process is continuous. For instance, if water dripping from a roof erodes a stone, it originally fell on the roof as rain; the rain came from a condensing cloud; the cloud was blown by the wind from the sea, where it evaporated; and so on. There’s no clear starting point for this, and no interruption in it. We can take any of these changes, label it as an effect, and ask for its cause; or label it as a cause, and ask for its effect. In nature, there aren't two separate categories called causes and effects; every change is both a cause (or a condition) for the future and an effect of the past; whether we view an event as one or the other depends on our curiosity or interest.
Still, taking the event as effect, its cause is the antecedent process; or, taking it as a cause, its effect is the consequent process. This follows from the conception of causation as essentially motion; for that motion takes time is (from the way our perceptive powers grow) an ultimate intuition. But, for the same reason, there is no interval of time between cause and effect; since all the time is filled up with motion.
Still, if we view the event as an effect, its cause is the preceding process; or, if we view it as a cause, its effect is the following process. This comes from understanding causation as essentially movement; the idea that movement takes time is a fundamental insight based on how our perception develops. However, for the same reason, there’s no gap in time between cause and effect, because all the time is filled with movement.
Nor must it be supposed that the whole cause is ante[Pg 177]cedent to the effect as a whole: for we often take the phenomenon on such a scale that minutes, days, years, ages, may elapse before we consider the cause as exhausted (e.g., an earthquake, a battle, an expansion of credit, natural selection operating on a given variety); and all that time the effect has been accumulating. But we may further consider such a cause as made up of moments or minute factors, and the effect as made up of corresponding moments; and then the cause, taken in its moments, is antecedent throughout to the effect, taken in its corresponding moments.
Nor should we assume that the entire cause comes before the effect as a whole: we often view the phenomenon on such a scale that minutes, days, years, or even ages may pass before we consider the cause to be fully played out (e.g., an earthquake, a battle, an expansion of credit, natural selection operating on a specific variety); and during all that time, the effect has been building up. However, we can also think of such a cause as being made up of moments or smaller factors, with the effect composed of corresponding moments; in that case, the cause, when viewed in its moments, always precedes the effect, which is viewed in its corresponding moments.
(4) The Cause is the invariable antecedent of the effect; that is to say, whenever a given cause occurs it always has the same effect: in this, in fact, consists the Uniformity of Causation. Accordingly, not every antecedent of an event is its Cause: to assume that it is so, is the familiar fallacy of arguing 'post hoc ergo propter hoc.' Every event has an infinite number of antecedents that have no ascertainable connection with it: if a picture falls from the wall in this room, there may have occurred, just previously, an earthquake in New Zealand, an explosion in a Japanese arsenal, a religious riot in India, a political assassination in Russia and a vote of censure in the House of Commons, besides millions of other less noticeable events, between none of which and the falling of the picture can any direct causation be detected; though, no doubt, they are all necessary occurrences in the general world-process, and remotely connected. The cause, however, was that a door slammed violently in the room above and shook the wall, and that the picture was heavy and the cord old and rotten. Even if two events invariably occur one after the other, as day follows night, or as the report follows the flash of a gun, they may not be cause and effect, though it is highly probable that they are closely connected by causation; and in each of these two examples the events are co-effects of a common cause, and may be regarded as elements of [Pg 178]its total effect. Still, whilst it is not true that every antecedent, or that every invariable antecedent, of an event is its cause, the cause is conceived of as some change in certain conditions, or some state and process of things, such that should it exactly recur the same event would invariably follow. If we consider the antecedent state and process of things very widely or very minutely, it never does exactly recur; nor does the consequent. But the purpose of induction is to get as near the truth as possible within the limits set by our faculties of observation and calculation. Complex causal instances that are most unlikely to recur as a whole, may be analysed into the laws of their constituent conditions.
(4) The cause is the consistent reason for the effect; in other words, whenever a specific cause happens, it always produces the same effect. This is essentially what is meant by the Uniformity of Causation. Therefore, not every event leading up to something is its cause: to think otherwise is the common error of arguing 'post hoc ergo propter hoc.' Every event has countless preceding factors that have no clear connection to it: for instance, if a picture falls from the wall in this room, there could have been an earthquake in New Zealand, an explosion in a Japanese arms depot, a religious riot in India, a political assassination in Russia, and a vote of censure in the House of Commons all happening just before, along with millions of other less significant events, none of which can be directly linked to the picture falling; although, they are all part of the larger unfolding of the world and are somewhat related. The actual cause was that a door slammed hard in the room above, shaking the wall, and that the picture was heavy and the cord was old and worn out. Even if two events consistently happen one after the other, like day following night or the sound coming after the flash of a gun, they may not be cause and effect, even though it's very likely that they are closely linked by causation; in both of these cases, the events are joint effects of a common cause and can be seen as parts of [Pg 178]its overall effect. Still, while it isn't true that every preceding event, or that every consistent preceding event, is the cause of an event, the cause is understood as a change in certain conditions or a specific state and process of things, such that if it were to recur exactly, the same event would inevitably follow. If we examine the previous state and process of things either very broadly or very closely, it never happens exactly the same again; nor does the resulting event. However, the aim of induction is to get as close to the truth as possible within the limits of our observation and calculation abilities. Complex causal situations that are very unlikely to happen again in their entirety can be broken down into the laws of their individual conditions.
(5) The Cause is the Unconditional Antecedent. A cause is never simple, but may be analysed into several conditions; and 'Condition' means any necessary factor of a Cause: any thing or agent that exerts, absorbs, transforms, or deflects energy; or any relation of time or space in which agents stand to one another. A positive condition is one that cannot be omitted without frustrating the effect; a negative condition is one that cannot be introduced without frustrating the effect. In the falling of the picture, e.g., the positive conditions were the picture (as being heavy), the slamming of the door, and the weakness of the cord: a negative condition was that the picture should have no support but the cord. When Mill, then, defines the Cause of any event as its "unconditional" antecedent, he means that it is that group of conditions (state and process of things) which, without any further condition, is followed by the event in question: it is the least antecedent that suffices, positive conditions being present and negative absent.
(5) The cause is the unconditional precursor. A cause is never simple but can be broken down into several conditions; and 'condition' refers to any necessary factor of a cause: anything or anyone that exerts, absorbs, transforms, or deflects energy; or any relationship of time or space in which agents relate to one another. A positive condition is one that cannot be omitted without rendering the effect impossible; a negative condition is one that cannot be introduced without rendering the effect impossible. In the case of the picture falling, for example, the positive conditions were the picture (because it was heavy), the slamming of the door, and the weakness of the cord: a negative condition was that the picture had no support other than the cord. When Mill defines the cause of any event as its "unconditional" precursor, he means that it is the set of conditions (the state and process of things) that, without any further condition, leads to the event in question: it is the minimal precursor that is sufficient, with positive conditions present and negative conditions absent.
Whatever item of the antecedent can be left out, then, without affecting the event, is no part of the cause. Earthquakes have happened in New Zealand and votes of censure in the House of Commons without a picture's falling in [Pg 179]this room: they were not unconditional antecedents; something else was needed to bring down a picture. Unconditionality also distinguishes a true cause from an invariable antecedent that is only a co-effect: for when day follows night something else happens; the Earth rotates upon her axis: a flash of gunpowder is not an unconditional antecedent of a report; the powder must be ignited in a closed chamber.
Anything from the preceding event that can be omitted without impacting the outcome is not part of the cause. Earthquakes have occurred in New Zealand and votes of censure have taken place in the House of Commons without a picture falling in [Pg 179]this room: they were not necessary conditions; something else was required to bring down a picture. The concept of necessity also serves to differentiate a true cause from a constant antecedent that is merely a co-effect: when day follows night, something else happens; the Earth rotates on its axis: a flash of gunpowder is not a necessary condition for a bang; the powder needs to be ignited in a closed chamber.
By common experience, and more precisely by experiment, it is found possible to select from among the antecedents of an event a certain number upon which, so far as can be perceived, it is dependent, and to neglect the rest: to purge the cause of all irrelevant antecedents is the great art of inductive method. Remote or minute conditions may indeed modify the event in ways so refined as to escape our notice. Subject to the limitations of our human faculties, however, we are able in many cases to secure an unconditional antecedent upon which a certain event invariably follows. Everybody takes this for granted: if the gas will not burn, or a gun will not go off, we wonder 'what can be wrong with it,' that is, what positive condition is wanting, or what negative one is present. No one now supposes that gunnery depends upon those "remotest of all causes," the stars, or upon the sun being in Sagittarius rather than in Aquarius, or that one shoots straightest with a silver bullet, or after saying the alphabet backwards.
From common experience, and more specifically through experimentation, we can identify certain factors that influence an event and disregard the rest: the key skill in the inductive method is eliminating all irrelevant factors. While distant or subtle conditions can indeed affect an event in ways that might go unnoticed, we are often able, given the limitations of our human abilities, to establish a direct cause for which a particular event consistently occurs. This is generally accepted: if a gas burner doesn't light or a gun fails to fire, we question "what could be wrong with it?" asking what necessary condition is missing or what undesirable one is present. No one nowadays believes that shooting depends on those "most distant of all causes," like the stars or whether the sun is in Sagittarius instead of Aquarius, or that you shoot most accurately with a silver bullet or after reciting the alphabet backwards.
(6) That the Cause of any event is an Immediate Antecedent follows from its being an unconditional one. For if there are three events, A B C, causally connected, it is plain that A is not the unconditional antecedent of C, but requires the further condition of first giving rise to B. But that is not all; for the B that gives rise to C is never merely the effect of A; it involves something further. Take such a simple case as the motion of the earth round the sun (neglecting all other conditions, the other planets,[Pg 180] etc.); and let the earth's motion at three successive moments be A B C: A is not the whole cause of B in velocity and direction; we must add relation to the sun, say x. But then, again, the cause of C will not be merely Bx, for the relation to the sun will have altered; so that we must represent it as Bx'. The series, therefore, is Ax Bx' C. What is called a "remote cause" is, therefore, doubly conditional; first, because it supposes an intervening cause; and secondly, because it only in part determines the conditions that constitute this intervening cause.
(6) The reason any event has an immediate cause is that it is an unconditional one. If we have three causally connected events, A, B, and C, it’s clear that A isn’t the unconditional cause of C, as it needs to first lead to B. But that’s not all; the B that leads to C isn’t just the effect of A; it also involves something more. Take the simple example of the Earth’s motion around the Sun (ignoring all other conditions, like the other planets, [Pg 180] etc.); if we consider the Earth’s motion at three successive moments as A, B, and C: A isn't the complete cause of B in terms of velocity and direction; we must include the relationship to the Sun, let’s say x. But then, the cause of C won’t just be Bx, because the relationship to the Sun will have changed; so we need to express it as Bx'. Therefore, the series is Ax Bx' C. What we refer to as a "remote cause" is, thus, doubly conditional; first, because it assumes an intervening cause; and second, because it only partially determines the conditions that make up this intervening cause.
The immediacy of a cause being implied in its unconditionalness, is an important clue to it; but as far as the detection of causes depends upon sense-perception, our powers (however aided by instruments) are unequal to the subtlety of Nature. Between the event and what seems to us the immediate antecedent many things (molecular or etherial changes) may happen in Chemistry or Physics. The progress of science would be impossible were not observation supplemented by hypothesis and calculation. And where phenomena are treated upon a large scale, as in the biological and social sciences, immediacy, as a mark of causation, must be liberally interpreted. So far, then, as to the qualitative character of Causation.
The directness of a cause being linked to its unconditional nature is a key insight; however, when it comes to identifying causes through our senses, our abilities (even with the help of tools) fall short of the complexity of Nature. Between an event and what we perceive as its immediate cause, many things (like molecular or ether changes) can occur in Chemistry or Physics. The advancement of science would be impossible without observation being backed up by hypotheses and calculations. And when we look at phenomena on a larger scale, like in biology and social sciences, the concept of immediacy as a sign of causation needs to be interpreted more broadly. So, that’s the qualitative aspect of Causation.
(7) But to complete our account of it, we must briefly consider its quantitative character. As to the Matter contained, and as to the Energy embodied, Cause and Effect are conceived to be equal. As to matter, indeed, they may be more properly called identical; since the effect is nothing but the cause redistributed. When oxygen combines with hydrogen to form water, or with mercury to form red precipitate, the weight of the compound is exactly equal to the weight of the elements combined in it; when a shell explodes and knocks down a wall, the materials of the shell and wall are scattered about. As to energy, we see that in the heavenly bodies, which meet with no sensible impediment, it remains the same from age to age: with [Pg 181]things 'below the moon' we have to allow for the more or less rapid conversion of the visible motion of a mass into other forms of energy, such as sound and heat. But the right understanding of this point involves physical considerations of some difficulty, as to which the reader must refer to appropriate books, such as Balfour Stewart's on The Conservation of Energy.
(7) To fully explain this, we need to quickly look at its quantitative aspects. In terms of the matter involved and the energy present, cause and effect are considered to be equal. In fact, they can even be called identical when it comes to matter, since the effect is just the cause distributed differently. When oxygen combines with hydrogen to create water or with mercury to make red precipitate, the weight of the compound is exactly equal to the weight of the elements that formed it. When a shell explodes and knocks down a wall, the materials from the shell and wall get scattered around. In terms of energy, we notice that in celestial bodies, which face no significant obstacles, it remains consistent over time: for [Pg 181]things "below the moon," we need to account for the varying rates at which the visible motion of a mass converts into other forms of energy, like sound and heat. However, understanding this properly involves some complex physical concepts, which the reader should look into in appropriate texts, such as Balfour Stewart's The Conservation of Energy.
The comprehension of the quantitative aspect of causation is greatly aided by Bain's analysis of any cause into a 'Moving or an Inciting Power' and a 'Collocation' of circumstances. When a demagogue by making a speech stirs up a mob to a riot, the speech is the moving or inciting power; the mob already in a state of smouldering passion, and a street convenient to be wrecked, are the collocation. When a small quantity of strychnine kills a man, the strychnine is the inciting power; the nature of his nervo-muscular system, apt to be thrown into spasms by that drug, and all the organs of his body dependent on that system, are the collocation. Now any one who thinks only of the speech, or the drug, in these cases, may express astonishment at the disproportion of cause and effect:
The understanding of the quantitative aspect of causation is greatly enhanced by Bain's breakdown of any cause into a 'Moving or Inciting Power' and a 'Collocation' of circumstances. When a demagogue delivers a speech that incites a mob to riot, the speech is the moving or inciting power; the mob, already filled with pent-up passion, and the street ready to be destroyed, are the collocation. When a small amount of strychnine poisons a man, the strychnine is the inciting power; the man's nervo-muscular system, which is prone to spasms from that drug, and all the organs relying on that system, comprise the collocation. Anyone who solely considers the speech or the drug in these situations might be surprised by the apparent imbalance between cause and effect:
But, remembering that the whole cause of the riot included the excited mob, every one sees that its muscular power is enough to wreck a street; and remembering that breathing depends upon the normal action of the intercostal muscles, it is plain that if this action is stopped by strychnine, a man must die. Again, a slight rise of temperature may be a sufficient inciting power to occasion extensive chemical changes in a collocation of elements otherwise stable; a spark is enough to explode a powder magazine. Hence, when sufficient energy to account for any effect cannot be found in the inciting power, or manifestly active condition, we must look for it in the collocation which is often supposed to be passive.
But, considering that the entire reason for the riot involved the excited crowd, it’s clear that their physical strength can easily destroy a street; and knowing that breathing relies on the normal function of the intercostal muscles, it’s obvious that if this function is interrupted by strychnine, a person will die. Moreover, a slight increase in temperature can be enough to trigger significant chemical changes in a group of elements that would otherwise remain stable; just a spark can ignite a powder keg. Therefore, when we can’t find enough energy to explain any effect in the inciting power or clearly active condition, we need to look for it in the arrangement that is often thought to be inactive.
And that reminds us of another common misapprehension, namely, that in Nature some things are passive and others active: the distinction between 'agent' and 'patient.' This is a merely relative distinction: in Nature all things are active. To the eye some things seem at rest and others in motion; but we know that nothing is really at rest, that everything palpitates with molecular change, and whirls with the planet through space. Everything that is acted upon reacts according to its own nature: the quietest-looking object (say, a moss-covered stone), if we try to push or lift it, pushes or pulls us back, assuring us that 'action and reaction are equal and opposite.' 'Inertia' does not mean want of vigour, but may be metaphorically described as the inexpugnable resolve of everything to have its own way.
And that brings to mind another common misunderstanding: the idea that in nature, some things are passive while others are active—the distinction between 'agent' and 'patient.' This distinction is only relative: in nature, everything is active. To our eyes, some things appear to be still and others in motion; but we know that nothing is truly at rest, as everything vibrates with molecular change and spins with the planet through space. Every object that gets acted upon responds according to its own nature: even the quietest-looking object (like a moss-covered stone), when we try to push or lift it, will push or pull us back, reminding us that 'action and reaction are equal and opposite.' 'Inertia' doesn’t mean a lack of energy; it can be metaphorically described as the unstoppable determination of everything to maintain its own course.
The equality of cause and effect defines and interprets the unconditionality of causation. The cause, we have seen, is that group of conditions which, without any further condition, is followed by a given event. But how is such a group to be conceived? Unquantified, it admits only of a general description: quantified, it must mean a group of conditions equal to the effect in mass and energy, the essence of the physical world. Apparently, a necessary conception of the human mind: for if a cause seem greater than its effect, we ask what has become of the surplus matter and energy; or if an effect seem greater than its cause, we ask whence the surplus matter and energy has arisen. So convinced of this truth is every experimenter, that if his results present any deviation from it, he always assumes that it is he who has made some mistake or oversight, never that there is indeterminism or discontinuity in Nature.
The equality of cause and effect defines and explains the unconditional nature of causation. The cause, as we have seen, is the set of conditions that, without any additional conditions, leads to a specific event. But how should we understand such a set? When not quantified, it only allows for a general description; when quantified, it must refer to a set of conditions that equals the effect in both mass and energy, which is the essence of the physical world. This seems to be a necessary concept for the human mind: if a cause appears to be greater than its effect, we wonder what has happened to the excess matter and energy; if an effect seems larger than its cause, we question where the extra matter and energy came from. Every experimenter is so convinced of this truth that if their results show any deviation from it, they always assume that they have made some mistake or oversight, never that there is indeterminism or discontinuity in Nature.
The transformation of matter and energy, then, is the essence of causation: because it is continuous, causation is immediate; and because in the same circumstances the transformation always follows the same course, a cause [Pg 183]has invariably the same effect. If a fire be lit morning after morning in the same grate, with coal, wood, and paper of the same quality and similarly arranged, there will be each day the same flaming of paper, crackling of wood and glowing of coal, followed in about the same time by the same reduction of the whole mass partly to ashes and partly to gases and smoke that have gone up the chimney. The flaming, crackling and glowing are, physically, modes of energy; and the change of materials into gas and ashes is a chemical and physical redistribution: and, if some one be present, he will be aware of all this; and then, besides the physical changes, there will be sensations of light, sound and heat; and these again will be always the same in the same circumstances.
The transformation of matter and energy is the core of causation: because it is continuous, causation happens instantly; and because the transformation always follows the same pattern under the same conditions, a cause [Pg 183]always produces the same effect. If a fire is lit morning after morning in the same fireplace, using coal, wood, and paper of the same quality and arranged in the same way, each day will result in the same flaming of paper, crackling of wood, and glowing of coal, followed after about the same time by the same reduction of the entire mass into ashes and gases that rise up the chimney. The flaming, crackling, and glowing are, physically, forms of energy; and the transformation of materials into gas and ashes is a chemical and physical redistribution. If someone is present during this process, they will notice all of this; and in addition to the physical changes, there will be sensations of light, sound, and heat; and these will also always be the same under the same conditions.
The Cause of any event, then, when exactly ascertainable, has five marks: it is (quantitatively) equal to the effect, and (qualitatively) the immediate, unconditional, invariable antecedent of the effect.
The cause of any event, when clearly determined, has five characteristics: it is (quantitatively) equal to the effect, and (qualitatively) the immediate, unconditional, invariable predecessor of the effect.
§ 3. This scientific conception of causation has been developed and rendered definite by the investigations of those physical sciences that can avail themselves of exact experiments and mathematical calculation; and it is there, in Chemistry and Physics, that it is most at home. The conception can indeed be carried into the Biological and Social Sciences, even in its quantitative form, by making the proper allowances. For the limbs of animals are levers, and act upon mechanical principles; and digestion and the aeration of the blood by breathing are partly chemical processes. There is a quantitative relation between the food a man eats and the amount of work he can do. The numbers of any species of plant or animal depend upon the food supply. The value of a country's imports is equal to the value of its exports and of the services it renders to foreigners. But, generally, the less experiment and exact calculation are practicable in any branch of inquiry, the less rigorously can the conception of causation [Pg 184]be applied there, the more will its application depend upon the qualitative marks, and the more need there will be to use it judiciously. In every inquiry the greatest possible precision must be aimed at; but it is unreasonable to expect in any case more precise proof than the subject admits of in the existing state of culture.
§ 3. This scientific idea of causation has been shaped and clarified by the research in physical sciences that can utilize exact experiments and mathematical calculations; it is most effectively applied in Chemistry and Physics. This idea can also be extended to Biological and Social Sciences, even in its quantitative form, with the right adjustments. For instance, animal limbs act as levers, following mechanical principles, and processes like digestion and blood aeration from breathing involve chemical reactions. There is a measurable connection between the food a person consumes and the amount of work they can perform. The population of any species of plants or animals is dependent on the availability of food. The value of a country’s imports equals the value of its exports and the services it provides to other countries. However, in general, the less experimentation and exact calculations can be achieved in a particular area of study, the less strictly the idea of causation [Pg 184] can be applied; its application will rely more on qualitative indicators, necessitating careful and thoughtful use. In every investigation, we should strive for the highest possible precision, but it is unreasonable to expect more precise evidence than what the current state of knowledge allows.
Wherever mental action is involved, there is a special difficulty in applying the physical notion of causation. For if a Cause be conceived of as matter in motion, a thought, or feeling, or volition can be neither cause nor effect. And since mental action is involved in all social affairs, and in the life of all men and animals, it may seem impossible to interpret social or vital changes according to laws of causation. Still, animals and men are moving bodies; and it is recognised that their thoughts and feelings are so connected with their movements and with the movements of other things acting upon them, that we can judge of one case by another; although the connection is by no means well understood, and the best words (such as all can agree to use) have not yet been found to express even what we know about it. Hence, a regular connection being granted, I have not hesitated, to use biological and social events and the laws of them, to illustrate causation and induction; because, though less exact than chemical or mechanical examples, they are to most people more familiar and interesting.
Wherever mental activity is involved, there's a specific challenge in applying the physical idea of causation. If we think of a cause as something material in motion, then thoughts, feelings, or decisions can't really be considered causes or effects. Since mental activity plays a role in all social interactions and in the lives of humans and animals, it may seem impossible to explain social or biological changes using the laws of causation. That said, both animals and humans are moving beings; it's recognized that their thoughts and feelings are linked to their movements and the movements of other entities affecting them, allowing us to draw comparisons between different situations, even though this connection isn't fully understood, and we haven't yet found the best language (that everyone agrees on) to articulate what we do know. Therefore, assuming there is a consistent connection, I have not hesitated to use biological and social events and their laws to illustrate causation and induction; because, while they may be less precise than examples from chemistry or mechanics, they tend to be more relatable and engaging for most people.
In practical affairs, it is felt that everything depends upon causation; how to play the fiddle, or sail a yacht, or get one's living, or defeat the enemy. The price of pig-iron six months hence, the prospects of the harvest, the issue in a Coroner's Court, Home Rule and Socialism, are all questions of causation. But, in such cases, the conception of a cause is rarely applied in its full scientific acceptation, as the unconditional antecedent, or 'all the conditions' (neither more nor less) upon which the event depends. This is not because men of affairs are bad logicians, or [Pg 185]incapable of scientific comprehension; for very often the reverse is conspicuously true; but because practical affairs call for promptitude and a decisive seizing upon what is predominantly important. How learn to play the fiddle? "Go to a good teacher." (Then, beginning young enough, with natural aptitude and great diligence, all may be well.) How defeat the enemy? "Be two to one at the critical juncture." (Then, if the men are brave, disciplined, well armed and well fed, there is a good chance of victory.) Will the price of iron improve? "Yes: for the market is oversold": (that is, many have sold iron who have none to deliver, and must at some time buy it back; and that will put up the price—if the stock is not too great, if the demand does not fall off, and if those who have bought what they cannot pay for are not in the meanwhile obliged to sell.) These prompt and decisive judgments (with the parenthetic considerations unexpressed) as to what is the Cause, or predominantly important condition, of any event, are not as good as a scientific estimate of all the conditions, when this can be obtained; but, when time is short, the insight of trained sagacity may be much better than an imperfect theoretical treatment of such problems.
In practical matters, it's understood that everything depends on causation; whether it's learning to play the violin, sailing a yacht, earning a living, or defeating an enemy. The price of pig iron in six months, the outlook for the harvest, the verdict in a Coroner's Court, Home Rule, and Socialism are all questions of causation. However, in these situations, the idea of a cause is rarely used in its full scientific sense as the unconditional preceding factor or 'all the conditions' (no more and no less) that the event relies on. This isn't because people in practical professions are poor logicians or unable to grasp scientific concepts; often, the opposite is clearly true. It's because practical affairs require quick decision-making and a focus on what is most important. How do you learn to play the violin? "Find a good teacher." (Then, starting young, with natural talent and a lot of hard work, everything should turn out fine.) How do you defeat the enemy? "Have twice as many people at the critical moment." (If the soldiers are brave, trained, well-equipped, and well-fed, there’s a good chance of winning.) Will the price of iron go up? "Yes, because the market is oversold." (That means many people have sold iron without having any to deliver and will eventually need to buy it back; this will drive the price up—assuming the supply isn't too high, demand remains steady, and those who bought without financial means aren’t forced to sell in the meantime.) These quick and decisive judgments (with the underlying considerations left unsaid) about what the Cause or the most important condition of any event is, aren't as reliable as a scientific assessment of all the potential conditions when such an assessment can be made. But when time is of the essence, the insight of experienced judgment can often be far more useful than a flawed theoretical approach to such issues.
§ 4. To regard the Effect of certain antecedents in a narrow selective way, is another common mistake. In the full scientific conception of an Effect it is the sum of the unconditional consequences of a given state and process of things: the consequences immediately flowing from that situation without further conditions. Always to take account of all the consequences of any cause would no doubt be impracticable; still the practical, as well as the scientific interest, often requires that we should enlarge our views of them; and there is no commoner error in private effort or in legislation than to aim at some obvious good, whilst overlooking other consequences of our action, the evil of which may far outweigh that good. An important consequence of eating is to satisfy hunger, and this is the ordinary [Pg 186]motive to eat; but it is a poor account of the physiological consequences. An important consequence of firing a gun is the propulsion of the bullet or shell; but there are many other consequences in the whole effect, and one of them is the heating of the barrel, which, accumulating with rapid firing, may at last put the gun out of action. The tides have consequences to shipping and in the wear and tear of the coast that draw every one's attention; but we are told that they also retard the rotation of the earth, and at last may cause it to present always the same face to the sun, and, therefore, to be uninhabitable. Such concurrent consequences of any cause may be called its Co-effects: the Effect being the sum of them.
§ 4. Viewing the impact of certain causes in a limited and selective manner is a common error. In a comprehensive scientific understanding of an effect, it encompasses all the unconditional results of a specific state and process: the outcomes that directly arise from that situation without any additional conditions. Although it would be impractical to consider every consequence of a single cause, both practical and scientific interests often require us to broaden our perspective on them. One of the most frequent mistakes in individual efforts or legislation is to pursue a clear benefit while ignoring other outcomes of our actions, the negative aspects of which may greatly exceed that benefit. A significant outcome of eating is to satisfy hunger, which is the usual motivation to eat; however, this is a limited view of the physiological effects. An essential result of firing a gun is the movement of the bullet or shell; yet there are many other outcomes to consider, one of which
The neglect to take account of the whole effect (that is, of all the co-effects) in any case of causation is perhaps the reason why many philosophers have maintained the doctrine of a "Plurality of Causes": meaning not that more than one condition is operative in the antecedent of every event (which is true), but that the same event may be due at different times to different antecedents, that in fact there may be vicarious causes. If, however, we take any effect as a whole, this does not seem to be true. A fire may certainly be lit in many ways: with a match or a flint and steel, or by rubbing sticks together, or by a flash of lightning: have we not here a plurality of causes? Not if we take account of the whole effect; for then we shall find it modified in each case according to the difference of the cause. In one case there will be a burnt match, in another a warm flint, in the last a changed state of electrical tension. And similar differences are found in cases of death under different conditions, as stabbing, hanging, cholera; or of shipwreck from explosion, scuttling, tempest. Hence a Coroner's Court expects to find, by examining a corpse, the precise cause of death. In short, if we knew the facts minutely enough, it would be found that there is only one Cause (sum of conditions) for each Effect (sum of co-effects), [Pg 187]and that the order of events is as uniform backwards as forwards.
The failure to consider the overall effect (that is, all the co-effects) in any case of causation is probably why many philosophers have supported the idea of a "Plurality of Causes." This doesn’t mean that more than one condition is involved in the cause of every event (which is true), but rather that the same event can occur at different times due to different causes, suggesting that there can be vicarious causes. However, if we look at any effect as a whole, this doesn't seem accurate. A fire can certainly be started in various ways: with a match, flint and steel, by rubbing sticks together, or by a lightning strike. Don’t we have a plurality of causes here? Not if we consider the overall effect, because then we’ll see it's altered in each case based on the nature of the cause. In one scenario, there will be a burnt match, in another a warm flint, and in the last, a change in electrical tension. We find similar variations in different causes of death, such as stabbing, hanging, or cholera; or in shipwrecks from explosion, scuttling, or storms. That’s why a Coroner's Court expects to determine the exact cause of death by examining a body. In short, if we had a detailed understanding of the facts, it would be clear that there’s only one Cause (the total of conditions) for each Effect (the total of co-effects), [Pg 187]and that the order of events is uniformly consistent both backwards and forwards.
Still, as we are far from knowing events minutely, it is necessary in practical affairs, and even in the more complex and unmanageable scientific investigations, especially those that deal with human life, to acknowledge a possible plurality of causes for any effect. Indeed, forgetfulness of this leads to many rash generalisations; as that 'revolutions always begin in hunger'; or that 'myths are a disease of language.' Then there is great waste of ingenuity in reconciling such propositions with the recalcitrant facts. A scientific method recognises that there may be other causes of effects thus vaguely conceived, and then proceeds to distinguish in each class of effects the peculiarities due to different causes.
Still, since we don't know every detail of events, it's important in practical matters—and even in the more complicated and unpredictable scientific studies, especially those involving human life—to recognize that there can be multiple causes for any effect. In fact, overlooking this can lead to many hasty generalizations, such as "revolutions always start because of hunger" or "myths are a flaw in language." This results in a lot of wasted creativity trying to fit these ideas with stubborn facts. A proper scientific method understands that there might be other causes for effects that are too vaguely defined and then moves on to identify in each category of effects the specific traits that come from different causes.
§ 5. The understanding of the complex nature of Causes and Effects helps us to overcome some other difficulties that perplex the use of these words. We have seen that the true cause is an immediate antecedent; but if the cause is confounded with one of its constituent conditions, it may seem to have long preceded the event which is regarded as its effect. Thus, if one man's death is ascribed to another's desire of revenge, this desire may have been entertained for years before the assassination occurred: similarly, if a shipwreck is ascribed to a sunken reef, the rock was waiting for ages before the ship sailed that way. But, of course, neither the desire of revenge nor the sunken rock was 'the sum of the conditions' on which the one or the other event depended: as soon as this is complete the effect appears.
§ 5. Understanding the complex relationship between Causes and Effects helps us navigate some of the challenges that complicate the use of these terms. We have observed that the true cause is an immediate predecessor; however, if the cause is confused with one of its necessary conditions, it may seem to have existed long before the event seen as its effect. For example, if one person’s death is attributed to another’s desire for revenge, that desire may have been held for years before the murder took place. Similarly, if a shipwreck is blamed on a submerged reef, the rock could have been there for ages before the ship passed that way. However, neither the desire for revenge nor the sunken rock was 'the total of the conditions' on which each event relied: once the conditions are fully in place, the effect manifests.
We have also seen the true effect of any state and process of things is the immediate consequence; but if the effect be confounded with one of its constituent factors, it may seem to long outlive the cessation of the cause. Thus, in nearly every process of human industry and art, one factor of the effect—a road, a house, a tool, a picture—may, and [Pg 188]generally does, remain long after the work has ceased: but such a result is not the whole effect of the operations that produce it. The other factors may be, and some always are, evanescent. In most of such works some heat is produced by hammering or friction, and the labourers are fatigued; but these consequences soon pass off. Hence the effect as a whole only momentarily survives the cause. Consider a pendulum which, having been once set agoing, swings to and fro in an arc, under the joint control of the shaft, gravitation and its own inertia: at every moment its speed and direction change; and each change may be considered as an effect, of which the antecedent change was one condition. In such a case as this, which, though a very simple, is a perfectly fair example of all causation, the duration of either cause or effect is quite insensible: so that, as Dr. Venn says, an Effect, rigorously conceived, is only "the initial tendency" of its Cause.
We have also observed that the true outcome of any state and process is the immediate result; however, if this outcome is confused with one of its essential components, it might appear to last long after the cause has stopped. In almost every process of human industry and art, one component of the result—a road, a house, a tool, a picture—may, and generally does, stick around long after the work has ended: but this outcome is not the complete effect of the actions that created it. The other components can be, and some always are, transient. In many of these works, some heat is generated through hammering or friction, and the workers become tired; but these effects fade quickly. Therefore, the overall effect only temporarily outlasts the cause. Think about a pendulum that, once set in motion, swings back and forth in an arc, governed by the shaft, gravity, and its own inertia: at every moment, its speed and direction change; and each change can be viewed as an effect, with the previous change being one condition. In this case, which, despite being quite simple, serves as a perfect example of all causation, the duration of either cause or effect is barely noticeable: so that, as Dr. Venn points out, an Effect, when strictly defined, is merely "the initial tendency" of its Cause.
§ 6. Mill contrasted two forms under which causation appears to us: that is to say, the conditions constituting a cause may be modified, or 'intermixed' in the effect, in two ways, which are typified respectively by Mechanical and Chemical action. In mechanical causation, which is found in Astronomy and all branches of Physics, the effects are all reducible to modes of energy, and are therefore commensurable with their causes. They are either directly commensurable, as in the cases treated of in the consideration of the mechanical powers; or, if different forms of energy enter into cause and effect, such as mechanical energy, electrical energy, heat, these different forms are severally reducible to units, between which equivalents have been established. Hence Mill calls this the "homogeneous intermixture of effects," because the antecedents and consequents are fundamentally of the same kind.
§ 6. Mill compared two ways we perceive causation: that is, the conditions that make up a cause can be changed or 'mixed' in the effect, in two ways represented by Mechanical and Chemical action. In mechanical causation, which appears in Astronomy and all areas of Physics, the effects can all be broken down into forms of energy and are therefore measurable against their causes. They can be directly comparable, as in the cases discussed regarding mechanical powers; or, if different types of energy are involved in cause and effect, like mechanical energy, electrical energy, and heat, these different types can be reduced to units, and equivalents have been established between them. Therefore, Mill refers to this as the "homogeneous intermixture of effects," because the causes and effects are fundamentally of the same nature.
In chemical causation, on the other hand, cause and effect (at least, as they present themselves to us) differ in almost every way: in the act of combination the properties [Pg 189]of elements (except weight) disappear, and are superseded by others in the compound. If, for example, mercury (a heavy, silvery liquid) be heated in contact with oxygen (a colourless gas), oxide of mercury is formed (red precipitate, which is a powder). This compound presents very different phenomena from those of its elements; and hence Mill called this class of cases "the heteropathic intermixture of effects." Still, in chemical action, the effect is not (in Nature) heterogeneous with the cause: for the weight of a compound is equal to the sum of the weights of the elements that are merged in it; and an equivalence has been ascertained between the energy of chemical combination and the heat, light, etc., produced in the act of combination.
In chemical causation, however, cause and effect (at least as we see them) are almost completely different. During the process of combination, the properties [Pg 189] of elements (except for weight) vanish and are replaced by new ones in the compound. For instance, when mercury (a heavy, silvery liquid) is heated with oxygen (a colorless gas), it creates mercury oxide (a red precipitate, which is a powder). This compound exhibits very different characteristics from its elements; that's why Mill referred to this type of case as "the heteropathic intermixture of effects." Still, in chemical reactions, the effect is not (in nature) unrelated to the cause: the weight of a compound equals the total weight of the elements that combine to form it, and there's a known equivalence between the energy of chemical combination and the heat, light, etc., generated during the combination process.
The heteropathic intermixture of effects is also found in organic processes (which, indeed, are partly chemical): as when a man eats bread and milk, and by digestion and assimilation converts them into nerve, muscle and bone. Such phenomena may make us wonder that people should ever have believed that 'effects resemble their causes,' or that 'like produces like.' A dim recognition of the equivalence of cause and effect in respect of matter and motion may have aided the belief; and the resemblance of offspring to parents may have helped: but it is probably a residuum of magical rites; in which to whistle may be regarded as a means of raising the wind, because the wind whistles; and rain-wizards may make a victim shed tears that the clouds also may weep.
The mixed effects can also be seen in organic processes (which are partly chemical): when a person eats bread and milk and then digest and convert them into nerve, muscle, and bone. These occurrences may lead us to wonder why anyone ever believed that 'effects resemble their causes' or that 'like produces like.' A vague awareness of the connection between cause and effect in terms of matter and motion might have supported this belief; the resemblance of offspring to their parents could have contributed too. But it likely stems from a leftover of magical rituals; where whistling might be thought of as a way to summon the wind because the wind makes a whistling sound, and rain-wizards could make someone cry to make the clouds weep as well.
§ 7. Another consideration arises out of the complex character of causes and effects. When a cause consists of two or more conditions or forces, we may consider what effect any one of them would have if it operated alone, that is to say, its Tendency. This is best illustrated by the Parallelogram of Forces: if two forces acting upon a point, but not in the same direction, be represented by straight lines drawn in the direction of the forces, and in length [Pg 190]proportional to their magnitudes, these lines, meeting in an angle, represent severally the tendencies of the forces; whilst if the parallelogram be completed on these lines, the diagonal drawn from the point in which they meet represents their Resultant or effect.
§ 7. Another factor to consider comes from the complicated nature of causes and effects. When a cause is made up of two or more conditions or forces, we can think about what effect each of them would have if it worked alone, which we call its Tendency. This is best shown by the Parallelogram of Forces: if two forces acting on a point, but not in the same direction, are represented by straight lines drawn in the direction of the forces and with lengths [Pg 190] proportional to their magnitudes, these lines, meeting at an angle, represent the individual tendencies of the forces; while if the parallelogram is completed on these lines, the diagonal drawn from the point where they meet represents their Resultant or effect.
Again, considering the tendency of any force if it operated alone, we may say that, when combined with another force (not in the same direction) in any resultant, its tendency is counteracted: either partially, when the direction of the resultant is different; or wholly when, the other force being equal and opposite, the resultant is equilibrium. If the two forces be in the same direction, they are merely added together. Counteraction is only one mode of combination; in no case is any force destroyed.
Again, if we think about how any force behaves on its own, we can say that when it combines with another force (that isn't going in the same direction), its effect is counteracted: either partially, if the combined direction is different; or completely, if the other force is equal and opposite, leading to a balanced state. If the two forces are going in the same direction, they simply add together. Counteraction is just one way forces can combine; in no situation is any force eliminated.
Sometimes the separate tendencies of combined forces can only be theoretically distinguished: as when the motion of a projectile is analysed into a tendency to travel in the straight line of its discharge, and a tendency to fall straight to the ground. But sometimes a tendency can be isolated: as when,—after dropping a feather in some place sheltered from the wind, and watching it drift to and fro, as the air, offering unequal resistances to its uneven surface, counteracts its weight with varying success, until it slowly settles upon the ground,—we take it up and drop it again in a vacuum, when it falls like lead. Here we have the tendency of a certain cause (namely, the relation between the feather and the earth) free from counteraction: and this is called the Elimination of the counteracting circumstances. In this case indeed there is physical elimination; whereas, in the case of a projectile, when we say that its actual motion is resolvable (neglecting the resistance of the air) into two tendencies, one in the line of discharge, the other earthwards, there is only theoretical elimination of either tendency, considered as counteracting the other; and this is more specifically called the Resolution or Analysis of the total effect into its component conditions. Now, Elimina[Pg 191]tion and Resolution may be said to be the essential process of Induction in the widest sense of the term, as including the combination of Induction with Deduction.
Sometimes, the separate influences of combined forces can only be distinguished in theory: like when the motion of a projectile is analyzed into a tendency to travel in the straight path of its launch and a tendency to fall directly to the ground. But sometimes, a tendency can be isolated: for instance, when we drop a feather in a place sheltered from the wind and watch it drift back and forth, as the air provides unequal resistance to its uneven surface, counteracting its weight with varying success until it slowly lands on the ground. We can then pick it up and drop it again in a vacuum, where it falls like a stone. Here, we see the influence of a certain cause (specifically, the relationship between the feather and the earth) free from counteraction; this is called the Elimination of the counteracting circumstances. In this case, there is indeed physical elimination; however, in the case of a projectile, when we say its actual motion can be resolved (disregarding air resistance) into two tendencies—one in the direction of its launch and the other downward—there's only theoretical elimination of either tendency, viewed as counteracting the other; and this is more specifically referred to as the Resolution or Analysis of the total effect into its component conditions. Now, Elimination and Resolution can be seen as the essential process of Induction in the broadest sense of the term, as it includes the combination of Induction with Deduction.
The several conditions constituting any cause, then, by aiding or counteracting one another's tendencies, jointly determine the total effect. Hence, viewed in relation one to another, they may be said to stand in Reciprocity or mutual influence. This relation at any moment is itself one of co-existence, though it is conceived with reference to a possible effect. As Kant says, all substances, as perceived in space at the same time, are in reciprocal activity. And what is true of the world of things at any moment (as connected, say, by gravity), is true of any selected group of circumstances which we regard as the particular cause of any event to come. The use of the concept of reciprocity, then, lies in the analysis of a cause: we must not think of reciprocity as obtaining in the succession of cause and effect, as if the effect could turn back upon its cause; for as the effect arises its cause disappears, and is irrecoverable by Nature or Magic. There are many cases of rhythmic change and of moving equilibria, in which one movement or process produces another, and this produces something closely resembling the former, and so on in long series; as with the swing of a pendulum or the orbit of a planet: but these are series of cause and effect, not of reciprocity.
The various conditions that make up any cause, by either supporting or opposing each other's tendencies, together shape the overall effect. Therefore, when considered in relation to one another, they can be said to exist in Reciprocity or mutual influence. This relationship at any moment is one of co-existence, even though it is thought about in terms of a possible effect. As Kant notes, all substances, as observed in space simultaneously, are engaged in reciprocal activity. What holds true for the world of things at any given moment (like those connected by gravity) is also true for any specific group of circumstances that we view as the particular cause of an upcoming event. The value of the concept of reciprocity lies in analyzing a cause: we shouldn't think of reciprocity occurring in the sequence of cause and effect, as if the effect could reverse back to its cause; because as the effect comes into being, its cause vanishes and cannot be retrieved by Nature or Magic. There are many instances of rhythmic change and dynamic equilibria, where one movement or process triggers another, which then produces something that closely resembles the original, and this can continue in long sequences; like the swing of a pendulum or the orbit of a planet: but these are sequences of cause and effect, not of reciprocity.
CHAPTER XV
INDUCTIVE METHOD
§ 1. It is necessary to describe briefly the process of investigating laws of causation, not with the notion of teaching any one the Art of Discovery, which each man pursues for himself according to his natural gifts and his experience in the methods of his own science, but merely to cast some light upon the contents of the next few chapters. Logic is here treated as a process of proof; proof supposes that some general proposition or hypothesis has been suggested as requiring proof; and the search for such propositions may spring from scientific curiosity or from practical interests.
§ 1. It’s important to briefly explain the process of investigating the laws of causation, not to teach anyone the Art of Discovery, which each person follows based on their natural abilities and experiences in their field, but simply to shed some light on what will be covered in the next few chapters. Here, logic is viewed as a process of proof; proof assumes that some general statement or hypothesis has been put forward as needing verification; and the quest for such statements can arise from scientific curiosity or practical interests.
We may, as Bain observes (Logic: B. iii. ch. 5), desire to detect a process of causation either (1) amidst circumstances that have no influence upon the process but only obscure it; as when, being pleased with a certain scent in a garden, we wish to know from what flower it rises; or, being attracted by the sound of some instrument in an orchestra, we desire to know which it is: or (2) amidst circumstances that alter the effect from what it would have been by the sole operation of some cause; as when the air deflects a falling feather; or in some more complex case, such as a rise or fall of prices that may extend over many years.
We might, as Bain points out (Logic: B. iii. ch. 5), want to figure out a cause-and-effect process either (1) in situations that have no impact on the process but only make it harder to see; for example, when we enjoy a particular smell in a garden and want to know which flower it's coming from, or when we're drawn to the sound of a certain instrument in an orchestra and wish to identify it; or (2) in situations where external factors change the outcome from what it would have been if only one cause was at work; like when air influences a falling feather, or in more complicated scenarios, such as price changes that could happen over several years.
To begin with, we must form definite ideas as to what the phenomenon is that we are about to investigate; and in a case of any complexity this is best done by writing a detailed description of it: e.g., to investigate the cause [Pg 193]of a recent fall of prices, we must describe exactly the course of the phenomenon, dating the period over which it extends, recording the successive fluctuations of prices, with their maxima and minima, and noting the classes of goods or securities that were more or less affected, etc.
To start, we need to have clear ideas about what the phenomenon is that we’re going to explore; and in cases that are complex, the best way to do this is by writing a detailed description of it. For example, to investigate the reasons behind a recent drop in prices, we should accurately outline the progression of the phenomenon, specify the time frame it covers, document the price fluctuations along with their highest and lowest points, and identify the types of goods or securities that were more or less impacted, etc.
Then the first step of elimination (as Bain further observes) is "to analyse the situation mentally," in the light of analogies suggested by our experience or previous knowledge. Dew, for example, is moisture formed upon the surface of bodies from no apparent source. But two possible sources are easily suggested by common experience: is it deposited from the air, like the moisture upon a mirror when we breathe upon it; or does it exude from the bodies themselves, like gum or turpentine? Or, again, as to a fall of prices, a little experience in business, or knowledge of Economics, readily suggests two possible explanations: either cheaper production in making goods or carrying them; or a scarcity of that in which the purchasing power of the chief commercial nations is directly expressed, namely, gold.
Then the first step of elimination (as Bain further points out) is "to analyze the situation mentally," in light of analogies suggested by our experience or prior knowledge. For example, dew is moisture that forms on surfaces from no obvious source. But two possible sources are easily suggested by common experience: is it coming from the air, like the moisture on a mirror when we breathe on it; or does it come from the bodies themselves, like gum or turpentine? Or, again, regarding a drop in prices, a little experience in business or knowledge of economics quickly suggests two possible explanations: either cheaper production in making goods or transporting them; or a shortage of what directly expresses the purchasing power of major commercial nations, namely, gold.
Having thus analysed the situation and considered the possibility of one, two, three, or more possible causes, we fix upon one of them for further investigation; that is to say, we frame an hypothesis that this is the cause. When an effect is given to find its cause, an inquirer nearly always begins his investigations by thus framing an hypothesis as to the cause.
Having analyzed the situation and considered the possibility of one, two, three, or more potential causes, we choose one of them for further investigation; in other words, we formulate a hypothesis that this is the cause. When trying to identify the cause of an effect, an investigator usually starts their inquiries by creating a hypothesis about the cause.
The next step is to try to verify this Hypothesis. This we may sometimes do by varying the circumstances of the phenomenon, according to the Canons of direct Inductive Proof to be discussed in the next chapter; that is to say, by observing or experimenting in such a way as to get rid of or eliminate the obscuring or disturbing conditions. Thus, to find out which flower in a garden gives a certain scent, it is usually enough to rely on observation, going up to the likely flowers one after the other and smelling them: at close quarters, the greater relative intensity of the scent [Pg 194]is sufficiently decisive. Or we may resort to a sort of experiment, plucking a likely flower, as to which we frame the hypothesis (this is the cause), and carrying it to some place where the air is free from conflicting odours. Should observation or experiment disprove our first hypothesis we try a second; and so on until we succeed, or exhaust the known possibilities.
The next step is to try to verify this hypothesis. Sometimes we can do this by changing the circumstances of the phenomenon, following the rules of direct inductive proof that will be discussed in the next chapter; in other words, by observing or experimenting in ways that remove or lessen the confusing or disruptive conditions. For instance, to find out which flower in a garden produces a certain scent, it’s usually sufficient to rely on observation, moving close to the likely flowers one by one and smelling them: at close range, the stronger relative intensity of the scent [Pg 194]is clear enough. Alternatively, we may conduct an experiment by picking a likely flower, based on which we form the hypothesis (this is the cause), and taking it to a place where the air is free from competing odors. If observation or experiment disproves our first hypothesis, we try a second one; and we keep going until we succeed or run out of known options.
But if the phenomenon is so complex and extensive as a continuous fall of prices, direct observation or experiment is a useless or impossible method; and we must then resort to Deduction; that is, to indirect Induction. If, for example, we take the hypothesis that the fall is due to a scarcity of gold, we must show that there is a scarcity; what effect such a scarcity may be expected to have upon prices from the acknowledged laws of prices, and from the analogy of other cases of an expanded or restricted currency; that this expectation agrees with the statistics of recent commerce: and finally, that the alternative hypothesis that the fall is due to cheaper production is not true; either because there has not been a sufficient cheapening of general production; or because, if there has been, the results to be rationally expected from it are not such as to agree with the statistics of recent commerce. (Ch. xviii.)
But if the situation is as complicated and widespread as a consistent drop in prices, direct observation or experiments are ineffective or impossible; we then need to turn to Deduction, meaning we rely on indirect Induction. For instance, if we consider the theory that the decline is due to a shortage of gold, we must demonstrate that such a shortage exists; what impact this shortage might have on prices based on established price laws and the parallels with other instances of increased or decreased currency; that this expectation aligns with recent trade statistics; and finally, that the opposing theory—that the decline is due to lower production costs—is false; either because there hasn't been enough reduction in overall production costs, or because, if there has been, the outcomes we would logically anticipate from it do not match the recent trade statistics. (Ch. xviii.)
But now suppose that, a phenomenon having been suggested for explanation, we are unable at the time to think of any cause—to frame any hypothesis about it; we must then wait for the phenomenon to occur again, and, once more observing its course and accompaniments and trying to recall its antecedents, do our best to conceive an hypothesis, and proceed as before. Thus, in the first great epidemic of influenza, some doctors traced it to a deluge in China, others to a volcanic eruption near Java; some thought it a mild form of Asiatic plague, and others caught a specific microbe. As the disease often recurred, there were fresh opportunities of framing hypotheses; and the microbe was identified.
But now imagine that when we come across a phenomenon that needs explaining, we can't immediately think of any cause or come up with a hypothesis about it; in that case, we have to wait for the phenomenon to happen again. Then, by observing how it unfolds and what else is happening at the same time, and trying to remember what happened before, we do our best to develop a hypothesis and continue as before. For example, during the first major influenza epidemic, some doctors linked it to a flood in China, others thought it was caused by a volcanic eruption near Java; some believed it was a mild form of Asiatic plague, while others detected a specific microbe. As the disease occurred repeatedly, there were new chances to formulate hypotheses, and eventually, the microbe was identified.
Again, the investigation may take a different form: given a supposed Cause to find its Effect; e.g., a new chemical element, to find what compounds it forms with other elements; or, the spots on the sun—have they any influence upon our weather?
Again, the investigation might look different: given a supposed Cause to find its Effect; e.g., discovering a new chemical element to find out what compounds it creates with other elements; or, considering the spots on the sun—do they have any impact on our weather?
Here, if the given cause be under control, as a new element may be, it is possible to try experiments with it according to the Canons of Inductive Proof. The inquirer may form some hypothesis or expectation as to the effects, to guide his observation of them, but will be careful not to hold his expectation so confidently as to falsify his observation of what actually happens.
Here, if the cause is manageable, like a new variable might be, it's possible to run experiments on it based on the Canons of Inductive Proof. The researcher can come up with a hypothesis or an expectation regarding the effects to help direct their observations, but will be cautious not to be so confident in their expectations that it skews their actual observations of what occurs.
But if the cause be, like the sun-spots, not under control, the inquirer will watch on all sides what events follow their appearance and development; he must watch for consequences of the new cause he is studying in many different circumstances, that his observations may satisfy the canons of proof. But he will also resort for guidance to deduction; arguing from the nature of the cause, if anything is known of its nature, what consequences may be expected, and comparing the results of this deduction with any consequent which he suspects to be connected with the cause. And if the results of deduction and observation agree, he will still consider whether the facts observed may not be due to some other cause.
But if the cause is uncontrollable, like sunspots, the researcher will observe the outcomes that follow their appearance and development from all angles. They need to look for the results of the new cause they are examining in various situations so that their findings meet the standards of proof. However, they will also rely on deduction, reasoning from what is known about the cause to predict what outcomes might occur, and comparing these predictions with any outcomes they suspect are related to the cause. If the results of deduction and observation align, they will still ponder whether the observed facts could be due to another cause altogether.
A cause, however, may be under control and yet be too dangerous to experiment with; such as the effects of a poison—though, if too dangerous to experiment with upon man, it may be tried upon animals; or such as a proposed change of the constitution by legislation; or even some minor Act of Parliament, for altering the Poor Law, or regulating the hours of labour. Here the first step must be deductive. We must ask what consequences are to be expected from the nature of the change (comparing it with similar changes), and from the laws of the special circumstances in which it is to operate? And sometimes we [Pg 196]may partially verify our deduction by trying experiments upon a small scale or in a mild form. There are conflicting deductions as to the probable effect of giving Home Rule to Ireland; and experiments have been made in more or less similar cases, as in the Colonies and in some foreign countries. As to the proposal to make eight hours the legal limit of a day's labour in all trades, we have all tried to forecast the consequences of this; and by way of verification we might begin with nine hours; or we might induce some other country to try the experiment first. Still, no verification by experiments on a small scale, or in a mild form, or in somewhat similar yet different circumstances, can be considered logically conclusive. What proofs are conclusive we shall see in the following chapters.
A cause can be controlled but still too risky to test; for example, the effects of a poison—if it's too dangerous to test on humans, it might be tried on animals instead; or a proposed constitutional change through legislation; or even a minor Act of Parliament that alters the Poor Law or changes working hours. The first step must be deductive. We need to consider what consequences we can expect from the nature of the change (comparing it to similar changes) and from the specific circumstances around it. Sometimes, we can partially verify our deductions by conducting small-scale experiments or milder versions. There are differing opinions about the likely effects of granting Home Rule to Ireland, and experiments have been conducted in similar situations in the Colonies and some other countries. Regarding the proposal to set an eight-hour workday limit for all trades, we've all tried to predict the consequences. As a way to test this, we could start with nine hours or encourage another country to try it out first. However, no verification from small-scale experiments, mild forms, or related but different situations can be deemed logically conclusive. We will discuss what constitutes conclusive proof in the following chapters.
§ 2. To begin with the conditions of direct Induction.—An Induction is an universal real proposition, based on observation, in reliance on the uniformity of Nature: when well ascertained, it is called a Law. Thus, that all life depends on the presence of oxygen is (1) an universal proposition; (2) a real one, since the 'presence of oxygen' is not connoted by 'life'; (3) it is based on observation; (4) it relies on the uniformity of Nature, since all cases of life have not been examined.
§ 2. To start with the conditions of direct induction.—An induction is a universal real statement based on observation, relying on the consistency of nature: when it is well established, it's referred to as a law. For example, the idea that all life depends on the presence of oxygen is (1) a universal statement; (2) a real one, since 'presence of oxygen' isn't implied by 'life'; (3) it is based on observation; (4) it relies on the consistency of nature, as not all instances of life have been examined.
Such a proposition is here called 'an induction,' when it is inductively proved; that is, proved by facts, not merely deduced from more general premises (except the premise of Nature's uniformity): and by the 'process of induction' is meant the method of inductive proof. The phrase 'process of induction' is often used in another sense, namely for the inference or judgment by which such propositions are arrived at. But it is better to call this 'the process of hypothesis,' and to regard it as a preliminary to the process of induction (that is, proof), as furnishing the hypothesis which, if it can stand the proper tests, becomes an induction or law.
Such a statement is referred to as 'an induction' when it is proven through induction; that is, proven by facts rather than just derived from broader premises (except for the premise of Nature's uniformity). The term 'process of induction' refers to the method of inductive proof. The phrase 'process of induction' is also commonly used in a different sense, meaning the inference or judgment through which such statements are made. However, it's more accurate to call this 'the process of hypothesis' and see it as a preliminary step to the process of induction (meaning proof), as it provides the hypothesis that, if it can withstand the proper tests, becomes an induction or law.
§ 3. Inductive proofs are usually classed as Perfect and[Pg 197] Imperfect. They are said to be perfect when all the instances within the scope of the given proposition have been severally examined, and the proposition has been found true in each case. But we have seen (chap. xiii. § 2) that the instances included in universal propositions concerning Causes and Kinds cannot be exhaustively examined: we do not know all planets, all heat, all liquids, all life, etc.; and we never can, since a man's life is never long enough. It is only where the conditions of time, place, etc., are arbitrarily limited that examination can be exhaustive. Perfect induction might show (say) that every member of the present House of Commons has two Christian names. Such an argument is sometimes exhibited as a Syllogism in Darapti with a Minor premise in U., which legitimates a Conclusion in A., thus:
§ 3. Inductive proofs are usually categorized as Perfect and[Pg 197] Imperfect. They are considered perfect when every instance relevant to the proposition has been thoroughly examined, and the proposition has been proven true in each case. However, we have seen (chap. xiii. § 2) that the instances included in universal propositions about Causes and Kinds cannot be entirely examined: we don’t know all planets, all forms of heat, all liquids, all life, etc.; and we never will, since a human life is never long enough. Comprehensive examination is only possible when the conditions of time, place, etc., are strictly limited. Perfect induction might demonstrate (for example) that every member of the current House of Commons has two Christian names. This type of argument is sometimes presented as a Syllogism in Darapti with a Minor premise in U., which validates a Conclusion in A., like this:
∴ All current M.P.s have two Christian names.
But in such an investigation there is no need of logical method to find the major premise; it is mere counting: and to carry out the syllogism is a hollow formality. Accordingly, our definition of Induction excludes the kind unfortunately called Perfect, by including in the notion of Induction a reliance on the uniformity of Nature; for this would be superfluous if every instance in question had been severally examined. Imperfect Induction, then, is what we have to deal with: the method of showing the credibility of an universal real proposition by an examination of some of the instances it includes, generally a small fraction of them.
But in this kind of investigation, there's no need for a logical method to find the main premise; it's simply counting. Carrying out the syllogism is just a meaningless formality. Therefore, our definition of Induction excludes the unfortunately named Perfect type, as it assumes a reliance on the uniformity of Nature; this assumption would be unnecessary if each instance in question had been examined individually. So, we're dealing with Imperfect Induction: the method of demonstrating the credibility of a universal real proposition by examining some of the instances it includes, usually just a small fraction of them.
There is a Geometrical Method, because the axioms of[Pg 198] Geometry are clear and definite, and by their means, with the aid of definitions, laws are deduced of the equality of lines and angles and other relations of position and magnitude in space. The process of proof is purely Deductive (the axioms and definitions being granted). Diagrams are used not as facts for observation, but merely to fix our attention in following the general argument; so that it matters little how badly they are drawn, as long as their divergence from the conditions of the proposition to be proved is not distracting. Even the appeal to "superposition" to prove the equality of magnitudes (as in Euclid I. 4), is not an appeal to observation, but to our judgment of what is implied in the foregoing conditions. Hence no inference is required from the special case to all similar ones; for they are all proved at once.
There is a geometric method because the rules of[Pg 198] geometry are clear and specific. Using these rules along with definitions, we can derive laws about the equality of lines and angles, as well as other spatial relationships regarding position and size. The proof process is entirely deductive (assuming the axioms and definitions are accepted). Diagrams aren't used as observations but rather to help us follow the overall argument; so it doesn't really matter how poorly they're drawn, as long as their failure to meet the conditions of the proposition isn't distracting. Even the use of "superposition" to demonstrate the equality of sizes (like in Euclid I. 4) isn’t based on observation but rather on our judgment about what the conditions imply. Therefore, no conclusion is needed from a specific case to other similar cases; all are proved simultaneously.
There is also, as we have seen, a method of Deductive Logic resting on the Principles of Consistency and the Dictum de omni et nullo. And we shall find that there is a method of Inductive Logic, resting on the principle of Causation.
There is also, as we have seen, a method of Deductive Logic based on the Principles of Consistency and the Dictum de omni et nullo. And we will find that there is a method of Inductive Logic, based on the principle of Causation.
But there are a good many general propositions, more or less trustworthy within a certain range of conditions, which cannot be methodically proved for want of a precise principle by which they may be tested; and they, therefore, depend upon Immethodical Induction, that is, upon the examination of as many instances as can be found, relying for the rest upon the undefinable principle of the Uniformity of Nature, since we are not able to connect them with any of its definite modes enumerated in chap. xiii. § 7. To this subject we shall return in chap. xix., after treating of Methodical Induction, or the means of determining that a relation of events is of the nature of cause and effect, because the relation can be shown to have the marks of causation, or some of them.
But there are quite a few general statements, somewhat reliable within certain conditions, that can't be systematically proven due to a lack of a clear principle to test them. Therefore, they rely on Immethodical Induction, which means looking at as many instances as possible and depending on the vague principle of the Uniformity of Nature since we can't link them to any specific modes listed in chap. xiii. § 7. We'll come back to this topic in chap. xix., after discussing Methodical Induction, or how to determine that a relationship between events is of a cause-and-effect nature, because the relationship can be demonstrated to exhibit signs of causation, or some of them.
§ 5. Observations and Experiments are the material grounds of Induction. An experiment is an observation [Pg 199]made under prepared, and therefore known, conditions; and, when obtainable, it is much to be preferred. Simple observation shows that the burning of the fire depends, for one thing, on the supply of air; but it cannot show us that it depends on oxygen. To prove this we must make experiments as by obtaining pure oxygen and pure nitrogen (which, mixed in the proportion of one to four, form the air) in separate vessels, and then plunging a burning taper into the oxygen—when it will blaze fiercely; and again plunging it into the nitrogen—when it will be extinguished. This shows that the greater part of the air does nothing to keep the fire alight, except by diminishing its intensity and so making it last longer. Experiments are more perfect the more carefully they are prepared, and the more completely the conditions are known under which the given phenomenon is to be observed. Therefore, they become possible only when some knowledge has already been gained by observation; for else the preparation which they require could not be made.
§ 5. Observations and experiments are the material basis of induction. An experiment is an observation [Pg 199]conducted under controlled and known conditions; and when possible, it is definitely preferred. Simple observation indicates that fire depends, among other things, on the supply of air; however, it cannot show us that it relies specifically on oxygen. To demonstrate this, we need to conduct experiments by obtaining pure oxygen and pure nitrogen (which, mixed in a ratio of one to four, form air) in separate containers. Then, when we dip a burning taper into the oxygen, it blazes fiercely; but when we dip it into the nitrogen, it goes out. This shows that most of the air doesn't contribute to keeping the fire burning, apart from reducing its intensity and extending its duration. Experiments become more reliable the more carefully they are set up and the more thoroughly the conditions under which the phenomenon is observed are understood. Therefore, they are only feasible once some knowledge has already been gained through observation, as otherwise, the necessary preparations couldn't be made.
Observation, then, was the first material ground of Induction, and in some sciences it remains the chief ground. The heavenly bodies, the winds and tides, the strata of the earth, and the movements of history, are beyond our power to experiment with. Experiments upon the living body or mind are indeed resorted to when practicable, even in the case of man, as now in all departments of Psychology; but, if of a grave nature, they are usually thought unjustifiable. And in political affairs experiments are hindered by the reflection, that those whose interests are affected must bear the consequences and may resent them. Hence, it is in physical and chemical inquiries and in the physiology of plants and animals (under certain conditions) that direct experiment is most constantly practised.
Observation was the primary basis for Induction, and it still serves as the main foundation in some sciences. The celestial bodies, winds and tides, layers of the earth, and historical events are beyond our ability to experiment on. While experiments on the living body or mind are carried out when possible, even with humans, as seen in various areas of Psychology today, serious experiments are usually considered unethical. In political matters, experiments are complicated by the fact that those affected by the outcomes must deal with the consequences and may not accept them. Therefore, direct experimentation is most frequently conducted in physical and chemical research and in the study of plants and animals (under certain conditions).
Where direct experiment is possible, however, it has many advantages over unaided observation. If one [Pg 200]experiment does not enable us to observe the phenomenon satisfactorily, we may try again and again; whereas the mere observer, who wishes to study the bright spots on Mars, or a commercial crisis, must wait for a favourable opportunity. Again, in making experiments we can vary the conditions of the phenomenon, so as to observe its different behaviour in each case; whereas he who depends solely on observation must trust the bounty of nature to supply him with a suitable diversity of instances. It is a particular advantage of experiment that a phenomenon may sometimes be 'isolated,' that is, removed from the influence of all agents except that whose operation we desire to observe, or except those whose operation is already known: whereas a simple observer, who has no control over the conditions of the subject he studies, can never be quite sure that its movements or changes are not due to causes that have never been conspicuous enough to draw his attention. Finally, experiment enables us to observe coolly and circumspectly and to be precise as to what happens, the time of its occurrence, the order of successive events, their duration, intensity and extent.
Where direct experimentation is possible, it has many advantages over simple observation. If one [Pg 200] experiment doesn’t allow us to observe the phenomenon clearly, we can try again and again; meanwhile, the casual observer who wants to study the bright spots on Mars or a financial crisis must wait for the right moment. Additionally, in experiments, we can change the conditions of the phenomenon to see how it behaves differently each time; in contrast, the observer who relies only on observation has to depend on nature to provide a varied enough set of instances. One key advantage of experimentation is that a phenomenon can sometimes be 'isolated,' meaning it can be separated from all influences except the one we're trying to observe, or from those whose impact we already understand. On the other hand, a basic observer, who can't control the conditions of the subject they're studying, can never be entirely sure that the movements or changes they notice aren't due to underlying causes that haven't been obvious enough to catch their attention. Finally, experiments allow us to observe things analytically and carefully, giving us precise details about what happens, when it happens, the sequence of events, their duration, intensity, and scope.
But whether we proceed by observation or experiment, the utmost attainable exactness of measurements and calculation is requisite; and these presuppose some Unit, in multiples or divisions of which the result may be expressed. This unit cannot be an abstract number as in Arithmetic, but must be one something—an hour, or a yard, or a pound—according to the nature of the phenomenon to be measured. But what is an hour, or a yard or a pound? There must in each case be some constant Standard of reference to give assurance that the unit may always have the same value. "The English pound is defined by a certain lump of platinum preserved at Westminster." The unit may be identical with the standard or some division or multiple of it; and, in measuring the same kind of phenomena, different units may be used for [Pg 201]different purposes as long as each bears a constant relation to the standard. Thus, taking the rotation of the earth as the standard of Time, the convenient unit for long periods is a year (which is a multiple); for shorter periods, a day (which is identical); for shorter still, an hour (which is a division), or a second, or a thousandth of a second. (See Jevons' Principles of Science, ch. 14.)
But whether we use observation or experimentation, we need the highest possible accuracy in measurements and calculations; this requires a Unit in multiples or fractions of which the results can be expressed. This unit can't just be an abstract number like in Arithmetic; it has to be something tangible—like an hour, a yard, or a pound—depending on what we're measuring. But what exactly is an hour, a yard, or a pound? There should always be a constant Standard reference to ensure that the unit has the same value every time. "The English pound is defined by a specific lump of platinum kept at Westminster." The unit can be the same as the standard or a fraction or multiple of it; and while measuring the same type of phenomena, different units can be used for [Pg 201]various purposes as long as each maintains a consistent relationship to the standard. For example, considering the Earth's rotation as the standard for Time, the most convenient unit for long durations is a year (which is a multiple); for shorter durations, a day (which is identical); for even shorter, an hour (which is a fraction), or a second, or a thousandth of a second. (See Jevons' Principles of Science, ch. 14.)
§ 6. The principle of Causation is the formal ground of Induction; and the Inductive Canons derived from it are means of testing the formal sufficiency of observations to justify the statement of a Law. If we can observe the process of cause and effect in nature we may generalise our observation into a law, because that process is invariable. First, then, can we observe the course of cause and effect? Our power to do so is limited by the refinement of our senses aided by instruments, such as lenses, thermometers, balances, etc. If the causal process is essentially molecular change, as in the maintenance of combustion by oxygen, we cannot directly observe it; if the process is partly cerebral or mental, as in social movements which depend on feeling and opinion, it can but remotely be inferred; even if the process is a collision of moving masses (billiard-balls), we cannot really observe what happens, the elastic yielding, and recoil and the internal changes that result; though no doubt photography will throw some light upon this, as it has done upon the galloping of horses and the impact of projectiles. Direct observation is limited to the effect which any change in a phenomenon (or its index) produces upon our senses; and what we believe to be the causal process is a matter of inference and calculation. The meagre and abstract outlines of Inductive Logic are apt to foster the notion, that the evidence on which Science rests is simple; but it is amazingly intricate and cumulative.
§ 6. The principle of causation is the formal basis of induction, and the inductive principles derived from it are tools for assessing whether our observations are enough to support the formulation of a law. If we can observe the cause-and-effect process in nature, we can generalize our findings into a law because that process is consistent. So, can we observe the cause-and-effect relationship? Our ability to do so is limited by the sensitivity of our senses, enhanced by tools like lenses, thermometers, scales, etc. If the causal process involves molecular changes, like how oxygen supports combustion, we can’t observe it directly; if it’s partly mental or social, relying on emotions and opinions, we can only infer it remotely; even when it comes to colliding masses (like billiard balls), we can't truly see what happens—the elastic deformation, the rebound, and the internal changes that occur. However, photography has shed light on these phenomena, just as it has on galloping horses and the impact of projectiles. Direct observation is limited to the effects that any change in a phenomenon (or its indicator) has on our senses; and what we think of as the causal process is based on inference and calculation. The sparse and abstract frameworks of inductive logic can lead to the idea that the evidence on which science is built is straightforward, but it's actually quite complex and cumulative.
Secondly, so far as we can observe the process of nature, how shall we judge whether a true causal instance, a re[Pg 202]lation of cause and effect, is before us? By looking for the five marks of Causation. Thus, in the experiment above described, showing that oxygen supports combustion, we find—(1) that the taper which only glowed before being plunged into the oxygen, bursts into flame when there—Sequence; (2) that this begins to happen at once without perceptible interval—Immediacy; (3) that no other agent or disturbing circumstance was present (the preparation of the experiment having excluded any such thing)—Unconditionalness; (4) the experiment may be repeated as often as we like with the same result—Invariableness. Invariableness, indeed, I do not regard as formally necessary to be shown, supposing the other marks to be clear; for it can only be proved within our experience; and the very object of Induction is to find grounds of belief beyond actual experience. However, for material assurance, to guard against his own liability to error, the inquirer will of course repeat his experiments.
Secondly, based on our observations of nature, how can we determine if we have a true causal instance or a clear relationship between cause and effect? We look for the five signs of causation. In the experiment mentioned earlier, which shows that oxygen supports combustion, we observe—(1) that the candle, which only glowed before being placed in oxygen, bursts into flame once it is there—Sequence; (2) that this happens immediately without any noticeable delay—Immediacy; (3) that there were no other agents or interfering factors present (the setup of the experiment eliminated any such variables)—Unconditionalness; (4) that the experiment can be repeated as many times as we want with the same outcome—Invariableness. I don’t think Invariableness is strictly necessary to demonstrate, assuming the other signs are clear; it can only be verified within our experience, and the main goal of Induction is to establish beliefs beyond direct experience. However, for extra assurance and to protect against his own potential mistakes, the researcher will certainly repeat his experiments.
The above four are the qualitative marks of Causation: the fifth and quantitative mark is the Equality of Cause and Effect; and this, in the above example, the Chemist determines by showing that, instead of the oxygen and wax that have disappeared during combustion, an equivalent weight of carbon dioxide, water, etc., has been formed.
The four mentioned are the qualitative indicators of causation: the fifth and quantitative indicator is the equality of cause and effect. In the example above, the chemist demonstrates this by showing that instead of the oxygen and wax that have vanished during combustion, an equivalent weight of carbon dioxide, water, etc., has been produced.
Here, then, we have all the marks of causation; but in the ordinary judgments of life, in history, politics, criticism, business, we must not expect such clear and direct proofs; in subsequent chapters it will appear how different kinds of evidence are combined in different departments of investigation.
Here, we see all the signs of causation; however, in everyday judgments about life, history, politics, criticism, and business, we shouldn't expect such clear and straightforward evidence. In the following chapters, it will be shown how various types of evidence are combined in different areas of study.
§ 7. The Inductive Canons, to be explained in the next chapter, describe the character of observations and experiments that justify us in drawing conclusions about causation; and, as we have mentioned, they are derived from the principle of Causation itself. According to that principle, cause and effect are invariably, immediately and uncon[Pg 203]ditionally antecedent and consequent, and are equal as to the matter and energy embodied.
§ 7. The Inductive Canons, which will be explained in the next chapter, outline the nature of observations and experiments that allow us to draw conclusions about causation. As we mentioned, they come from the principle of Causation itself. According to that principle, cause and effect are always, directly, and unconditionally related, and they are equal in terms of the matter and energy involved.
Invariability can only be observed, in any of the methods of induction, by collecting more and more instances, or repeating experiments. Of course it can never be exhaustively observed.
Invariability can only be seen, through any of the methods of induction, by gathering more and more examples, or by repeating experiments. Of course, it can never be fully observed.
Immediacy, too, in direct Induction, is a matter for observation the most exact that is possible.
Immediacy in direct induction is also something to be observed as precisely as possible.
Succession, or the relation itself of antecedent and consequent, must either be directly observed (or some index of it); or else ascertained by showing that energy gained by one phenomenon has been lost by another, for this implies succession.
Succession, or the relationship between what comes before and what comes after, must either be directly observed (or have some indication of it); or determined by demonstrating that the energy gained by one phenomenon has been lost by another, as this implies succession.
But to determine the unconditionality of causation, or the indispensability of some condition, is the great object of the methods, and for that purpose the meaning of unconditionality may be further explicated by the following rules for the determination of a Cause.
But figuring out the unconditionality of causation, or the necessity of a certain condition, is the main goal of the methods. To that end, the meaning of unconditionality can be further explained by the following rules for determining a Cause.
A. Qualitative Analysis
I.—For Positive Instances.
To prove a supposed Cause: (a) Any agent whose introduction among certain conditions (without further change) is followed by a given phenomenon; or, (b) whose removal is followed by the cessation (or modification) of that phenomenon, is (so far) the cause or an indispensable condition of it.
To prove a supposed cause: (a) Any agent whose introduction under certain conditions (without further change) leads to a specific phenomenon; or, (b) whose removal leads to the stopping (or change) of that phenomenon, is (so far) considered the cause or a necessary condition of it.
To find the Effect: (c) Any event that follows a given phenomenon, when there is no further change; or, (d) that does not occur when the conditions of a former occurrence are exactly the same, except for the absence of that phenomenon, is the effect of it (or is dependent on it).
To find the Effect: (c) Any event that happens after a specific phenomenon, with no further changes; or, (d) that does not happen when the conditions of a previous occurrence are exactly the same, except for the lack of that phenomenon, is the effect of it (or is dependent on it).
II.—For Negative Instances.
To exclude a supposed Cause: (a) Any agent that can be introduced among certain conditions without being followed by a given phenomenon (or that is found without that phenomenon); or (b) that can be removed when that phenomenon is present without impairing it (or that is absent when that phenomenon is present), is not the cause, or does not complete the cause, of that phenomenon in those circumstances.
To rule out a supposed cause: (a) Any factor that can be present under certain conditions without leading to a specific outcome (or is found without that outcome); or (b) that can be eliminated when that outcome is occurring without affecting it (or that is missing when that outcome is happening), is not the cause, or does not fully account for the cause, of that outcome in those situations.
To exclude a supposed Effect: (c) Any event that occurs without the introduction (or presence) of a given phenomenon; or (d) that does not occur when that phenomenon is introduced (or is present), is not the effect of that phenomenon.
To rule out a supposed effect: (c) Any event that happens without the introduction (or presence) of a specific phenomenon; or (d) that doesn't happen when that phenomenon is introduced (or is present), is not the effect of that phenomenon.
Subject to the conditions thus stated, the rules may be briefly put as follows:
Subject to the conditions stated, the rules can be summarized as follows:
I. (a) That which (without further change) is followed by a given event is its cause.
I. (a) That which directly leads to a specific event is its cause.
II. (a) That which is not so followed is not the cause.
II. (a) What isn’t followed in that way isn’t the cause.
I. (b) That which cannot be left out without impairing a phenomenon is a condition of it.
I. (b) Anything that cannot be excluded without affecting a phenomenon is a condition of it.
II. (b) That which can be left out is not a condition of it.
II. (b) What can be omitted is not a requirement for it.
B. Quantitative Analysis
The Equality of Cause and Effect may be further explained by these rules:
The equality of cause and effect can be further explained by these rules:
III. (a) When a cause (or effect) increases or decreases, so does its effect (or cause).
III. (a) When a cause (or effect) goes up or down, so does its effect (or cause).
III. (b) If two phenomena, having the other marks of cause and effect, seem unequal, the less contains an unexplored factor.
III. (b) If two phenomena, having the other signs of cause and effect, appear unequal, the lesser one has an unknown factor.
It will next be shown that these propositions are variously combined in Mill's five Canons of Induction: Agreement, the Joint Method, Difference, Variations, Residues. The first three are sometimes called Qualitative Methods, and the two last Quantitative; and although this grouping is not quite accurate, seeing that Difference is often used quantitatively, yet it draws attention to an important distinction between a mere description of conditions and determination by exact measurement.
It will now be shown that these ideas are differently combined in Mill's five Canons of Induction: Agreement, the Joint Method, Difference, Variations, and Residues. The first three are sometimes referred to as Qualitative Methods, while the last two are Quantitative; and although this categorization isn’t entirely accurate since Difference is often used quantitatively, it highlights an important distinction between simply describing conditions and determining them through precise measurement.
To avoid certain misunderstandings, some slight alterations have been made in the wording of the Canons. It may seem questionable whether the Canons add anything to the above propositions: I think they do. They are not discussed in the ensuing chapter merely out of reverence for Mill, or regard for a nascent tradition; but because, as describing the character of observations and experiments that justify us in drawing conclusions about causation, they are guides to the analysis of observations and to the preparation of experiments. To many eminent investigators the Canons (as such) have been unknown; but they prepared their work effectively so far only as they had definite ideas to the same purport. A definite conception of the conditions of proof is the necessary antecedent of whatever preparations may be made for proving anything.
To clear up any misunderstandings, some slight changes have been made to the wording of the Canons. It might be debatable whether the Canons add anything to the propositions mentioned above, but I believe they do. They are not included in the next chapter just out of respect for Mill or in acknowledgment of a developing tradition; rather, they serve as important guidelines for analyzing observations and designing experiments that allow us to draw conclusions about causes. Many prominent researchers have been unaware of the Canons, but they effectively prepared their work as long as they had clear ideas aligned with the same principles. Having a clear understanding of the proof requirements is essential before making any preparations to prove something.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CANONS OF DIRECT INDUCTION
§ 1. Let me begin by borrowing an example from Bain (Logic: B. III. c. 6). The North-East wind is generally detested in this country: as long as it blows few people feel at their best. Occasional well-known causes of a wind being injurious are violence, excessive heat or cold, excessive dryness or moisture, electrical condition, the being laden with dust or exhalations. Let the hypothesis be that the last is the cause of the North-East wind's unwholesome quality; since we know it is a ground current setting from the pole toward the equator and bent westward by the rotation of the earth; so that, reaching us over thousands of miles of land, it may well be fraught with dust, effluvia, and microbes. Now, examining many cases of North-East wind, we find that this is the only circumstance in which all the instances agree: for it is sometimes cold, sometimes hot; generally dry, but sometimes wet; sometimes light, sometimes violent, and of all electrical conditions. Each of the other circumstances, then, can be omitted without the N.E. wind ceasing to be noxious; but one circumstance is never absent, namely, that it is a ground current. That circumstance, therefore, is probably the cause of its injuriousness. This case illustrates:—
§ 1. Let me start by using an example from Bain (Logic: B. III. c. 6). The North-East wind is typically disliked in this country: when it blows, not many people feel their best. Some well-known reasons why a wind can be harmful include its intensity, extreme heat or cold, excessive dryness or humidity, electrical activity, or being filled with dust or other particles. Let's assume that the last reason is why the North-East wind is unhealthy; we know it is a ground current moving from the pole toward the equator and bending westward due to the Earth's rotation. By the time it reaches us after traveling thousands of miles over land, it could easily be full of dust, odors, and microbes. Now, when we examine many instances of the North-East wind, we see that this is the only factor that is always present: it can be cold or hot; generally dry, but sometimes wet; occasionally light, occasionally strong, and can have various electrical conditions. Each of the other factors can be excluded without the North-East wind stopping being harmful; however, one factor is always there, which is that it is a ground current. Therefore, this factor is likely the reason for its harmfulness. This example illustrates:—
The Agreement Manual.
This rule of proof (so far as it is used to establish direct causation) depends, first, upon observation of an invariable connection between the given phenomenon and one other circumstance; and, secondly, upon I. (a) and II. (b) among the propositions obtained from the unconditionality of causation at the close of the last chapter.
This proof rule (as it relates to establishing direct causation) relies first on observing a consistent link between the specific phenomenon and another circumstance; and secondly, on I. (a) and II. (b) from the propositions derived from the unconditionality of causation at the end of the last chapter.
To prove that A is causally related to p, suppose two instances of the occurrence of A, an antecedent, and p, a consequent, with concomitant facts or events—and let us represent them thus:
To show that A is causally linked to p, let's consider two occurrences of A, which is the cause, and p, which is the effect, along with relevant facts or events—and we can represent them like this:
Antecedents: | A | B | C | A | D | E | |
Consequents: | p | q | r | p | s | t; |
and suppose further that, in this case, the immediate succession of events can be observed. Then A is probably the cause, or an indispensable condition, of p. For, as far as our instances go, A is the invariable antecedent of p; and p is the invariable consequent of A. But the two instances of A or p agree in no other circumstance. Therefore A is (or completes) the unconditional antecedent of p. For B and C are not indispensable conditions of p, being absent in the second instance (Rule II. (b)); nor are D and E, being absent in the first instance. Moreover, q and r are not effects of A, being absent in the second instance (Rule II. (d)); nor are s and t, being absent in the first instance.
and suppose further that, in this case, the immediate succession of events can be observed. Then A is probably the cause, or an essential condition, of p. Because, based on our examples, A is the constant precursor of p; and p is the consistent result of A. But the two examples of A or p share no other circumstances. Therefore A is (or completes) the unconditional precursor of p. Because B and C are not essential conditions of p, since they are absent in the second example (Rule II. (b)); nor are D and E, since they are absent in the first example. Moreover, q and r are not effects of A, since they are absent in the second example (Rule II. (d)); nor are s and t, since they are absent in the first example.
It should be observed that the cogency of the proof depends entirely upon its tending to show the unconditionality of the sequence A-p, or the indispensability of A as a condition of p. That p follows A, even immediately, is nothing by itself: if a man sits down to study and, on the instant, a hand-organ begins under his window, he must not infer malice in the musician: thousands of things follow one another every moment without traceable connection; and this we call 'accidental.' Even invariable sequence is [Pg 208]not enough to prove direct causation; for, in our experience does not night invariable follow day? The proof requires that the instances be such as to show not merely what events are in invariable sequence, but also what are not. From among the occasional antecedents of p (or consequents of A) we have to eliminate the accidental ones. And this is done by finding or making 'negative instances' in respect of each of them. Thus the instance
It should be noted that the strength of the proof relies entirely on its ability to demonstrate the unconditional nature of the sequence A-p, or the necessity of A as a condition for p. The fact that p follows A, even immediately, doesn’t mean anything on its own: if someone sits down to study and, at that moment, a hand organ starts playing outside their window, they shouldn’t assume the musician is acting out of malice. Countless events happen in sequence every moment without any clear connection; we refer to this as 'accidental.' Even a consistent sequence is [Pg 208]not enough to establish direct causation; for, in our experience, doesn’t night consistently follow day? To prove causation, we need examples that show not just what events are in a constant sequence, but also what are not. Among the occasional precedents of p (or outcomes of A), we must eliminate the accidental ones. This is achieved by identifying or creating 'negative instances' for each of them. Thus the instance
A | D | E |
p | s | t |
is a negative instance of B and C considered as supposable causes of p (and of q and r as supposable effects of A); for it shows that they are absent when p (or A) is present.
is a negative instance of B and C seen as possible causes of p (and of q and r as possible effects of A); because it demonstrates that they are absent when p (or A) is present.
To insist upon the cogency of 'negative instances' was Bacon's great contribution to Inductive Logic. If we neglect them, and merely collect examples of the sequence A-p, this is 'simple enumeration'; and although simple enumeration, when the instances of agreement are numerous enough, may give rise to a strong belief in the connection of phenomena, yet it can never be a methodical or logical proof of causation, since it does not indicate the unconditionalness of the sequence. For simple enumeration of the sequence A-p leaves open the possibility that, besides A, there is always some other antecedent of p, say X; and then X may be the cause of p. To disprove it, we must find, or make, a negative instance of X—where p occurs, but X is absent.
Insisting on the importance of 'negative instances' was Bacon's major contribution to Inductive Logic. If we ignore them and just gather examples of the sequence A-p, this is just 'simple enumeration'; and while simple enumeration, if there are enough cases of agreement, can lead to a strong belief in the connection of phenomena, it can never serve as a systematic or logical proof of causation, since it doesn't show that the sequence is unconditional. Simple enumeration of the sequence A-p leaves open the possibility that, besides A, there might always be another factor affecting p, let’s call it X; then X could be causing p. To disprove this, we need to find or create a negative instance of X—where p occurs, but X is not present.
So far as we recognise the possibility of a plurality of causes, this method of Agreement cannot be quite satisfactory. For then, in such instances as the above, although D is absent in the first, and B in the second, it does not follow that they are not the causes of p; for they may be alternative causes: B may have produced p in the first instance, and D in the second; A being in both cases an accidental circumstance in relation to p. To remedy this shortcoming by the method of Agreement itself, the only course is to find more instances of p. We may never find [Pg 209]a negative instance of A; and, if not, the probability that A is the cause of p increases with the number of instances. But if there be no antecedent that we cannot sometimes exclude, yet the collection of instances will probably give at last all the causes of p; and by finding the proportion of instances in which A, B, or X precedes p, we may estimate the probability of any one of them being the cause of p in any given case of its occurrence.
As long as we recognize the possibility of multiple causes, this method of Agreement isn’t completely satisfying. In situations like the ones mentioned earlier, even though D is missing in the first case and B in the second, it doesn't mean they can't be causes of p; they might be alternative causes: B could have caused p in the first case, while D did so in the second, with A being just an accidental factor related to p. To fix this issue using the method of Agreement itself, we need to find more instances of p. We might never discover a negative instance of A; if that’s the case, the likelihood that A causes p grows as we find more instances. However, if there’s no antecedent we can always rule out, the collection of instances will likely eventually show all the causes of p; by determining the proportion of instances in which A, B, or X occurs before p, we can assess the probability of any one of them being the cause of p in a specific occurrence.
But this is not enough. Since there cannot really be vicarious causes, we must define the effect (p) more strictly, and examine the cases to find whether there may not be varieties of p, with each of which one of the apparent causes is correlated: A with p1 B with p11, X with p111. Or, again, it may be that none of the recognised antecedents is effective: as we here depend solely on observation, the true conditions may be so recondite and disguised by other phenomena as to have escaped our scrutiny. This may happen even when we suppose that the chief condition has been isolated: the drinking of foul water was long believed to cause dysentery, because it was a frequent antecedent; whilst observation had overlooked the bacillus, which was the indispensable condition.
But this isn’t enough. Since there can’t really be vicarious causes, we need to define the effect (p) more clearly and look at the cases to determine if there are different types of p, each of which is correlated with one of the apparent causes: A with p1, B with p11, X with p111. Alternatively, it might be that none of the recognized antecedents is effective: since we’re relying solely on observation, the true conditions may be so hidden and camouflaged by other phenomena that they’ve escaped our notice. This can happen even when we think we’ve isolated the main condition: drinking contaminated water was long thought to cause dysentery because it was a common antecedent, while observation failed to recognize the bacillus, which was the crucial condition.
Again, though we have assumed that, in the instances supposed above, immediate sequence is observable, yet in many cases it may not be so, if we rely only on the canon of Agreement; if instances cannot be obtained by experiment, and we have to depend on observation. The phenomena may then be so mixed together that A and p seem to be merely concomitant; so that, though connection of some sort may be rendered highly probable, we may not be able to say which is cause and which is effect. We must then try (as Bain says) to trace the expenditure of energy: if p gains when A loses, the course of events if from A to p.
Again, even though we've assumed that we can see an immediate sequence in the examples mentioned above, that's not always the case if we only rely on the principle of Agreement. If we can't obtain instances through experimentation and have to rely on observation, the phenomena might become so intertwined that A and p appear to simply occur alongside each other. While we can suggest that some sort of connection is likely, we might not be able to determine which is the cause and which is the effect. In that case, we need to try (as Bain suggests) to track the flow of energy: if p increases when A decreases, then the sequence of events goes from A to p.
Moreover, where succession cannot be traced, the method of Agreement may point to a connection between two or more facts (perhaps as co-effects of a remote cause) where [Pg 210]direct causation seems to be out of the question: e.g., that Negroes, though of different tribes, different localities, customs, etc., are prognathous, woolly-haired and dolichocephalic.
Moreover, when we can't trace succession, the method of Agreement might suggest a link between two or more facts (possibly as co-effects of a distant cause) where direct causation seems impossible: for example, that Black people, despite being from different tribes, regions, customs, etc., share traits like being prognathous, having woolly hair, and being dolichocephalic.
The Method of Agreement, then, cannot by itself prove causation. Its chief use (as Mill says) is to suggest hypotheses as to the cause; which must then be used (if possible) experimentally to try if it produces the given effect. A bacillus, for example, being always found with a certain disease, is probably the chief condition of it: give it to a guinea-pig, and observe whether the disease appears in that animal.
The Method of Agreement can't prove causation on its own. Its main function (as Mill says) is to propose hypotheses about the cause, which should then be tested experimentally to see if it leads to the expected effect. For instance, if a bacillus is always found with a certain disease, it is likely a key factor in causing it: give it to a guinea pig and see if the disease develops in that animal.
Men often use arguments which, if they knew it, might be shown to conform more or less to this canon; for they collect many instances to show that two events are connected; but usually neglect to bring out the negative side of the proof; so that their arguments only amount to simple enumeration. Thus Ascham in his Toxophilus, insisting on the national importance of archery, argues that victory has always depended on superiority in shooting; and, to prove it, he shows how the Parthians checked the Romans, Sesostris conquered a great part of the known world, Tiberius overcame Arminius, the Turks established their empire, and the English defeated the French (with many like examples)—all by superior archery. But having cited these cases to his purpose, he is content; whereas he might have greatly strengthened his proof by showing how one or the other instance excludes other possible causes of success. Thus: the cause was not discipline, for the Romans were better disciplined than the Parthians; nor yet the boasted superiority of a northern habitat, for Sesostris issued from the south; nor better manhood, for here the Germans probably had the advantage of the Romans; nor superior civilisation, for the Turks were less civilised than most of those they conquered; nor numbers, nor even a good cause, for the French were more [Pg 211]numerous than the English, and were shamefully attacked by Henry V. on their own soil. Many an argument from simple enumeration may thus be turned into an induction of greater plausibility according to the Canon of Agreement.
Men often make arguments that, if they realized it, could be shown to mostly fit this principle; they gather many examples to demonstrate that two events are linked but usually fail to highlight the opposing side of the evidence; hence, their arguments end up being a mere list. For example, Ascham in his Toxophilus, emphasizing the national significance of archery, argues that winning has always relied on shooting ability; to back this up, he points out how the Parthians held off the Romans, how Sesostris conquered a large part of the known world, how Tiberius defeated Arminius, how the Turks built their empire, and how the English triumphed over the French (with many similar examples)—all thanks to superior archery. After citing these cases, he stops; however, he could have significantly enhanced his argument by showing how each instance rules out other possible reasons for success. For instance: the cause wasn't discipline, as the Romans were better disciplined than the Parthians; nor was it the claimed advantage of a northern environment since Sesostris came from the south; nor better manhood, since the Germans likely had the upper hand against the Romans; nor superior civilization, as the Turks were less civilized than many of those they conquered; nor numbers, nor even a just cause, as the French were more numerous than the English and were shamefully attacked by Henry V. on their own land. Many arguments based on simple enumeration could thereby be transformed into a more plausible induction according to the Principle of Agreement.
Still, in the above case, the effect (victory) is so vaguely conceived, that a plurality of causes must be allowed for: although, e.g., discipline did not enable the Romans to conquer the Parthians, it may have been their chief advantage over the Germans; and it was certainly important to the English under Henry V. in their war with the French.
Still, in the situation mentioned above, the outcome (victory) is so vaguely defined that we have to consider multiple causes: for example, while discipline didn’t help the Romans beat the Parthians, it might have been their main advantage against the Germans; and it was definitely crucial for the English under Henry V. during their war with the French.
Here is another argument, somewhat similar to the above, put forward by H. Spencer with a full consciousness of its logical character. States that make war their chief object, he says, assume a certain type of organisation, involving the growth of the warrior class and the treatment of labourers as existing solely to sustain the warriors; the complete subordination of individuals to the will of the despotic soldier-king, their property, liberty and life being at the service of the State; the regimentation of society not only for military but also for civil purposes; the suppression of all private associations, etc. This is the case in Dahomey and in Russia, and it was so at Sparta, in Egypt, and in the empire of the Yncas. But the similarity of organisation in these States cannot have been due to race, for they are all of different races; nor to size, for some are small, some large; nor to climate or other circumstances of habitat, for here again they differ widely: the one thing they have in common is the military purpose; and this, therefore, must be the cause of their similar organisation. (Political Institutions.)
Here’s another argument, somewhat like the one above, made by H. Spencer with a full awareness of its logical nature. He states that states that prioritize war tend to develop a certain type of organization, featuring the rise of a warrior class and viewing laborers as existing solely to support the warriors; complete subordination of individuals to the will of a tyrannical soldier-king, with their property, freedom, and lives at the service of the State; the structuring of society for both military and civilian purposes; and the suppression of all private associations, etc. This is seen in Dahomey, Russia, as well as historically in Sparta, Egypt, and the empire of the Incas. However, the similarity in the organization of these states cannot be attributed to race, since they come from different backgrounds; nor to size, as some are small and others large; nor to climate or other living conditions, as they vary greatly in this respect: the one common factor among them is their military focus, which must therefore be the reason for their similar organization. (Political Institutions.)
By this method, then, to prove that one thing is causally connected with another, say A with p, we show, first, that in all instances of p, A is present; and, secondly, that any other supposable cause of p may be absent without disturbing p. We next come to a method the use of which greatly strengthens the foregoing, by showing that [Pg 212]where p is absent A is also absent, and (if possible) that A is the only supposable cause that is always absent along with p.
By this method, to demonstrate that one thing is causally linked to another, say A with p, we first show that A is present in all instances of p; and second, that any other possible cause of p can be absent without affecting p. Next, we approach a method that significantly strengthens the previous one by showing that where [Pg 212] p is absent, A is also absent, and (if possible) that A is the only possible cause that is always absent along with p.
§ 2. The Canon of the Joint Method of Agreement in Presence and Absence.
If (1) two or more instances in which a phenomenon occurs have only one other circumstance (antecedent or consequent) in common, while (2) two or more instances in which it does not occur (though in important points they resemble the former set of instances) have nothing else in common save the absence of that circumstance—the circumstance in which alone the two sets of instances differ throughout (being present in the first set and absent in the second) is probably the effect, or the cause, or an indispensable condition of the phenomenon.
If (1) there are two or more cases where a phenomenon occurs and they share only one other factor (either preceding or following), while (2) there are two or more cases where it does not occur (though they significantly resemble the previous set) that share nothing else except the lack of that factor—the factor that is the only difference between the two sets (present in the first set and absent in the second) is likely the effect, or the cause, or an essential condition for the phenomenon.
The first clause of this Canon is the same as that of the method of Agreement, and its significance depends upon the same propositions concerning causation. The second clause, relating to instances in which the phenomenon is absent, depends for its probative force upon Prop. II. (a), and I. (b): its function is to exclude certain circumstances (whose nature or manner of occurrence gives them some claim to consideration) from the list of possible causes (or effects) of the phenomenon investigated. It might have been better to state this second clause separately as the Canon of the Method of Exclusions.
The first part of this Canon is the same as that of the method of Agreement, and its importance is based on the same ideas about causation. The second part, which deals with cases where the phenomenon is not present, relies for its argumentative strength on Prop. II. (a) and I. (b): its role is to rule out certain conditions (whose nature or way of happening gives them some validity for consideration) from the list of possible causes (or effects) of the phenomenon being studied. It might have been clearer to present this second part separately as the Canon of the Method of Exclusions.
To prove that A is causally related to p, let the two sets of instances be represented as follows:
To show that A is connected to p, let's represent the two sets of examples like this:
Instances of Presence. | Instances of Absence. | ||||
A | B | C | C | H | F |
p | q | r | r | x | v |
A | D | E | B | D | K |
p | s | t | q | y | s |
A | F | G | E | G | M |
p | u | v | t | f | u |
[Pg 213]Then A is probably the cause or a condition of p, or p is dependent upon A: first, by the Canon of Agreement in Presence, as represented by the first set of instances; and, secondly, by Agreement in Absence in the second set of instances. For there we see that C, H, F, B, D, K, E, G, M occur without the phenomenon p, and therefore (by Prop. II. (a)) are not its cause, or not the whole cause, unless they have been counteracted (which is a point for further investigation). We also see that r, v, q, s, t, u occur without A, and therefore are not the effects of A. And, further, if the negative instances represent all possible cases, we see that (according to Prop. I. (b)) A is the cause of p, because it cannot be omitted without the cessation of p. The inference that A and p are cause and effect, suggested by their being present throughout the first set of instances, is therefore strengthened by their being both absent throughout the second set.
[Pg 213]So, A is likely the cause or a factor of p, or p depends on A: first, based on the Canon of Agreement in Presence, as shown in the first set of examples; and second, by Agreement in Absence in the second set of examples. In that case, we see that C, H, F, B, D, K, E, G, M occur without the phenomenon p, which means they are not its cause, or not the full cause, unless they've been countered (which is something to explore further). We also notice that r, v, q, s, t, u appear without A, so they are not effects of A. Moreover, if the negative instances cover all possible cases, we can conclude that (according to Prop. I. (b)) A is the cause of p, because if A is removed, p stops. The idea that A and p are cause and effect, suggested by their presence in the first set of examples, is supported even more by their absence in the second set.
So far as this Double Method, like the Single Method of Agreement, relies on observation, sequence may not be perceptible in the instances observed, and then, direct causation cannot be proved by it, but only the probability of causal connection; and, again, the real cause, though present, may be so obscure as to evade observation. It has, however, one peculiar advantage, namely, that if the second list of instances (in which the phenomenon and its supposed antecedent are both absent) can be made exhaustive, it precludes any hypothesis of a plurality of causes; since all possible antecedents will have been included in this list without producing the phenomenon. Thus, in the above symbolic example, taking the first set of instances, the supposition is left open that B, C, D, E, F, G may, at one time or another, have been a condition of p; but, in the second list, these antecedents all occur, here or there, without producing p, and therefore (unless counteracted somehow) cannot be a condition of p. A, [Pg 214]then, stands out as the one thing that is present whenever p is present, and absent whenever p is absent.
As far as this Double Method, like the Single Method of Agreement, relies on observation, the sequence may not be noticeable in the instances observed, and thus, direct causation cannot be established through it, only the likelihood of a causal connection; additionally, the real cause, even if present, might be too obscure to be noticed. However, it has one unique advantage: if the second list of instances (where both the phenomenon and its supposed cause are absent) can be made exhaustive, it eliminates any hypothesis of multiple causes; since all possible antecedents will have been included in this list without producing the phenomenon. Therefore, in the symbolic example above, considering the first set of instances, the possibility remains that B, C, D, E, F, G could have been a condition of p at some point; but in the second list, these antecedents all appear, here or there, without causing p, and therefore (unless somehow counteracted) cannot be a condition of p. A, [Pg 214]then, clearly stands out as the one factor that is present whenever p is present and absent whenever p is absent.
Stated in this abstract way, the Double Method may seem very elaborate and difficult; yet, in fact, its use may be very simple. Tyndall, to prove that dispersed light in the air is due to motes, showed by a number of cases (1) that any gas containing motes is luminous; (2) that air in which the motes had been destroyed by heat, and any gas so prepared as to exclude motes, are not luminous. All the instances are of gases, and the result is: motes—luminosity; no motes—no luminosity. Darwin, to show that cross-fertilisation is favourable to flowers, placed a net about 100 flower-heads, and left 100 others of the same varieties exposed to the bees: the former bore no seed, the latter nearly 3,000. We must assume that, in Darwin's judgment, the net did not screen the flowers from light and heat sufficiently to affect the result.
Stated in this abstract way, the Double Method may seem very complicated and challenging; however, its application can actually be quite straightforward. Tyndall, to demonstrate that scattered light in the air is caused by particles, showed through several examples (1) that any gas containing particles is luminous; (2) that air where the particles have been eliminated by heat, and any gas prepared to remove particles, is not luminous. All the examples involve gases, and the conclusion is: particles—luminosity; no particles—no luminosity. Darwin, to show that cross-fertilization benefits flowers, covered about 100 flower heads with a net and left another 100 of the same varieties exposed to the bees: the netted flowers produced no seeds, while the exposed ones yielded nearly 3,000. We must assume that in Darwin's view, the net did not block enough light and heat from reaching the flowers to influence the outcome.
There are instructive applications of this Double Method in Wallace's Darwinism. In chap. viii., on Colour in Animals, he observes, that the usefulness of their coloration to animals is shown by the fact that, "as a rule, colour and marking are constant in each species of wild animal, while, in almost every domesticated animal, there arises great variability. We see this in our horses and cattle, our dogs and cats, our pigeons and poultry. Now the essential difference between the conditions of life of domesticated and wild animals is, that the former are protected by man, while the latter have to protect themselves." Wild animals protect themselves by acquiring qualities adapted to their mode of life; and coloration is a very important one, its chief, though not its only use, being concealment. Hence a useful coloration having been established in any species, individuals that occasionally may vary from it, will generally, perish; whilst, among domestic animals, variation of colour or marking is sub[Pg 215]ject to no check except the taste of owners. We have, then, two lists of instances; first, innumerable species of wild animals in which the coloration is constant and which depend upon their own qualities for existence; secondly, several species of domestic animals in which the coloration is not constant, and which do not depend upon their own qualities for existence. In the former list two circumstances are present together (under all sorts of conditions); in the latter they are absent together. The argument may be further strengthened by adding a third list, parallel to the first, comprising domestic animals in which coloration is approximately constant, but where (as we know) it is made a condition of existence by owners, who only breed from those specimens that come up to a certain standard of coloration.
There are helpful examples of this Double Method in Wallace's Darwinism. In chapter eight, on Colour in Animals, he points out that the usefulness of their colors to animals is shown by the fact that, "as a rule, color and markings are consistent in each species of wild animal, while, in almost every domesticated animal, there is a lot of variability. We see this in our horses and cattle, dogs and cats, pigeons and poultry. The main difference between the living conditions of domesticated and wild animals is that the former are protected by humans, while the latter have to protect themselves." Wild animals protect themselves by developing traits suited to their lifestyle; and color is a very important one, its primary, though not only, purpose being concealment. Therefore, once a beneficial coloration is established in a species, individuals that occasionally differ from it will generally perish; meanwhile, among domestic animals, the variation in color or markings is subject to no restriction other than the preferences of their owners. We then have two categories of examples; first, countless species of wild animals where the coloration is constant and which rely on their own traits for survival; second, several species of domestic animals where the coloration is not constant, and which do not depend on their own traits for survival. In the first category, both conditions are present together (under all kinds of circumstances); in the second, they are absent together. The argument can be further strengthened by adding a third category, similar to the first, including domestic animals where coloration is approximately constant, but where (as we know) it is treated as a condition of survival by owners, who only breed from those specimens that meet a certain standard of coloration.
Wallace goes on to discuss the colouring of arctic animals. In the arctic regions, he says, some animals are wholly white all the year round, such as the polar bear, the American polar hare, the snowy owl and the Greenland falcon: these live amidst almost perpetual snow. Others, that live where the snow melts in summer, only turn white in winter, such as the arctic hare, the arctic fox, the ermine and the ptarmigan. In all these cases the white colouring is useful, concealing the herbivores from their enemies, and also the carnivores in approaching their prey; this usefulness, therefore, is a condition of the white colouring. Two other explanations have, however, been suggested: first, that the prevalent white of the arctic regions directly colours the animals, either by some photographic or chemical action on the skin, or by a reflex action through vision (as in the chameleon); secondly, that a white skin checks radiation and keeps the animals warm. But there are some exceptions to the rule of white colouring in arctic animals which refute these hypotheses, and confirm the author's. The sable remains brown throughout the winter; but it frequents trees, with [Pg 216]whose bark its colour assimilates. The musk-sheep is brown and conspicuous; but it is gregarious, and its safety depends upon its ability to recognise its kind and keep with the herd. The raven is always black; but it fears no enemy and feeds on carrion, and therefore does not need concealment for either defence or attack. The colour of the sable, then, though not white, serves for concealment; the colour of the musk-sheep serves a purpose more important than concealment; the raven needs no concealment. There are thus two sets of instances:—in one set the animals are white (a) all the year, (b) in winter; and white conceals them (a) all the year, (b) in winter; in the other set, the animals are not white, and to them either whiteness would not give concealment, or concealment would not be advantageous. And this second list refutes the rival hypotheses: for the sable, the musk-sheep and the raven are as much exposed to the glare of the snow, and to the cold, as the other animals are.
Wallace discusses the color of arctic animals. In the arctic regions, he notes, some animals are completely white all year long, like the polar bear, the American polar hare, the snowy owl, and the Greenland falcon, which live in almost constant snow. Others, like the arctic hare, the arctic fox, the ermine, and the ptarmigan, only turn white in winter, as they inhabit places where the snow melts in summer. In all these cases, the white color helps hide herbivores from predators and allows carnivores to sneak up on their prey; this usefulness is what makes the white color advantageous. However, two other explanations have been proposed: first, that the common white in the arctic regions directly influences the animals' color, either through some chemical or photographic reaction on their skin, or through a reflex action via sight (like in chameleons); second, that having white skin reduces radiation and keeps the animals warm. Yet, there are exceptions to the rule of white coloring in arctic animals that challenge these theories and support the author’s argument. The sable stays brown throughout winter; however, it lives in trees, whose bark matches its color. The musk-sheep is brown and stands out; but it lives in groups, and its safety relies on its ability to recognize others and stay with the herd. The raven is always black; but it has no predators and feeds on carrion, so it doesn’t need to hide for defense or hunting. Therefore, while the sable is not white, its color still provides concealment; the musk-sheep's color serves a purpose more significant than hiding; the raven has no need for concealment. Thus, there are two sets of examples:—in one set, the animals are white (a) year-round, (b) in winter; and white conceals them (a) year-round, (b) in winter; in the other set, the animals are not white, and for them, being white would not provide concealment, or hiding would not be beneficial. This second list disproves the competing theories: for the sable, the musk-sheep, and the raven face the same glare from the snow and the cold as the other animals do.
§ 3. The Canon of Difference.
If an instance in which a phenomenon occurs, and an instance in which it does not occur, have every other circumstance in common save one, that one (whether consequent or antecedent) occurring only in the former; the circumstance in which alone the two instances differ is the effect, or the cause, or an indispensable condition of the phenomenon.
If a situation where something happens and a situation where it doesn't happen have everything else in common except for one thing—whether that thing comes before or after—the one thing that the two situations differ on is the effect, the cause, or an essential condition of the phenomenon.
This follows from Props. I (a) and (b), in chapter xv. § 7. To prove that A is a condition of p, let two instances, such as the Canon requires, be represented thus:
This follows from Props. I (a) and (b), in chapter xv. § 7. To prove that A is a condition of p, let's represent two instances, as the Canon requires, like this:
A | B | C | B | C | |
p | q | r | q | r |
Then A is the cause or a condition of p. For, in the first instance, A being introduced (without further change), p arises (Prop. I. (a)); and, in the second instance, A having been removed (without other change), p disappears[Pg 217] (Prop. I. (b)). Similarly we may prove, by the same instances, that p is the effect of A.
Then A is the cause or a condition of p. First, when A is introduced (without any other changes), p occurs (Prop. I. (a)); and second, when A is removed (without any other changes), p disappears[Pg 217] (Prop. I. (b)). Likewise, we can demonstrate, using the same examples, that p is the effect of A.
The order of the phenomena and the immediacy of their connection is a matter for observation, aided by whatever instruments and methods of inspection and measurement may be available.
The sequence of events and how closely they're related is something to be observed, using any tools and techniques for inspecting and measuring that are at hand.
As to the invariability of the connection, it may of course be tested by collecting more instances or making more experiments; but it has been maintained, that a single perfect experiment according to this method is sufficient to prove causation, and therefore implies invariability (since causation is uniform), though no other instances should ever be obtainable; because it establishes once for all the unconditionality of the connection
As for the consistency of the connection, it can certainly be tested by gathering more examples or conducting more experiments; however, it has been argued that a single perfect experiment using this method is enough to demonstrate causation, and therefore implies consistency (since causation is constant), even if no other examples can ever be found; because it definitively establishes the unconditional nature of the connection.
A | B | C |
p | q | r. |
Now, formally this is true; but in any actual investigation how shall we decide what is a satisfactory or perfect experiment? Such an experiment requires that in the negative instance
Now, formally this is true; but in any real investigation, how will we determine what constitutes a satisfactory or perfect experiment? Such an experiment requires that in the negative instance
B | C |
q | r, |
BC shall be the least assemblage of conditions necessary to co-operate with A in producing p; and that it is so cannot be ascertained without either general prior knowledge of the nature of the case or special experiments for the purpose. So that invariability will not really be inferred from a single experiment; besides that every prudent inquirer repeats his experiments, if only to guard against his own liability to error.
BC shall be the minimum set of conditions needed to work together with A to produce p; and this can't be confirmed without either a general understanding of the situation or specific experiments conducted for that purpose. Therefore, you can't actually conclude invariability from just one experiment; besides, any careful researcher repeats their experiments, if only to protect themselves from making mistakes.
The supposed plurality of causes does not affect the method of Difference. In the above symbolic case, A is clearly one cause (or condition) of p, whatever other causes may be possible; whereas with the Single Method of Agreement, it remained doubtful (admitting a plurality of causes) whether A, in spite of being always present with p, was ever a cause or condition of it.
The supposed variety of causes doesn't change the method of Difference. In the example above, A is clearly one cause (or condition) of p, regardless of what other causes might exist; however, with the Single Method of Agreement, it was still uncertain (considering multiple causes) whether A, despite always being present with p, was ever a cause or condition of it.
This method of Difference without our being distinctly aware of it, is oftener than any other the basis of [Pg 218]ordinary judgments. That the sun gives light and heat, that food nourishes and fire burns, that a stone breaks a window or kills a bird, that the turning of a tap permits or checks the flow of water or of gas, and thousands of other propositions are known to be true by rough but often emphatic applications of this method in common experience.
This method of Difference, often without our clear awareness, is more frequently than any other the foundation of [Pg 218]everyday judgments. That the sun provides light and warmth, that food nourishes us, that fire burns, that a stone can break a window or kill a bird, that turning a tap allows or stops the flow of water or gas, and countless other statements are understood to be true through rough but often strong applications of this method in everyday life.
The method of Difference may be applied either (1) by observation, on finding two instances (distinct assemblages of conditions) differing only in one phenomenon together with its antecedent or consequent; or (2) by experiment, and then, either (a) by preparing two instances that may be compared side by side, or (b) by taking certain conditions, and then introducing (or subtracting) some agent, supposed to be the cause, to see what happens: in the latter case the "two instances" are the same assemblage of conditions considered before and, again, after, the introduction of the agent. As an example of (a) there is an experiment to show that radium gives off heat: take two glass tubes, in one put some chloride of radium, in both thermometers, and close them with cotton-wool. Soon the thermometer in the tube along with radium reads 54° F. higher than the other one. The tube without the radium, whose temperature remains unaltered, is called the "control" experiment. Most experiments are of the type (b); and since the Canon, which describes two co-existing instances, does not readily apply to this type, an alternative version may be offered: Any agent whose introduction into known circumstances (without further change) is immediately followed by a definite phenomenon is a condition of the occurrence of that phenomenon.
The method of Difference can be applied in two ways: (1) by observation, where you find two instances (different sets of conditions) that only differ in one phenomenon along with its cause or effect; or (2) by experiment, which can be done in one of two ways: (a) by preparing two instances that can be compared directly, or (b) by setting certain conditions and then adding (or removing) a factor that is believed to be the cause to see what happens. In the second case, the "two instances" refer to the same set of conditions looked at before and after the addition of the factor. An example of (a) is an experiment showing that radium emits heat: take two glass tubes, put some radium chloride in one, place thermometers in both, and seal them with cotton. Soon, the thermometer in the tube with radium reads 54° F. higher than the other. The tube without radium, which stays at the same temperature, is known as the "control" experiment. Most experiments fall into category (b); and since the Canon, which describes two co-existing instances, doesn't easily apply to this type, an alternative version can be proposed: Any factor whose introduction into known conditions (without any other changes) is immediately followed by a specific phenomenon is a condition for that phenomenon occurring.
The words into known circumstances are necessary to emphasise what is required by this Method, namely, that the two instances differ in only one thing; for this cannot be ascertained unless all the other conditions are known; and this further implies that they have been prepared.[Pg 219] It is, therefore, not true (as Sigwart asserts) that this method determines only one condition of a phenomenon, and that it is then necessary to inquire into the other conditions. If they were not known they must be investigated; but then the experiment would not have been made upon this method. Practically, experiments have to be made in all degrees of imperfection, and the less perfect they are, that is, the less the circumstances are known beforehand, the more remains to be done. A common imperfection is delay, or the occurrence of a latent period between the introduction of an agent and the manifestation of its effects; it cannot then be the unconditional cause; though it may be an indispensable remote condition of whatever change occurs. If, feeling out of sorts, you take a drug and some time afterwards feel better, it is not clear on this ground alone that the drug was the cause of recovery, for other curative processes may have been active meanwhile—food, or sleep, or exercise.
The phrase into known circumstances is important to emphasize what this Method requires, which is that the two instances differ in only one thing; this distinction can’t be determined unless all the other conditions are known, and this also suggests that they have been set up correctly.[Pg 219] Therefore, it’s not accurate (as Sigwart claims) to say that this method identifies only one condition of a phenomenon and that it’s then necessary to investigate the other conditions. If those conditions were unknown, they would need to be explored; however, that would mean the experiment wasn’t conducted using this method. In reality, experiments often take place with varying levels of imperfection, and the less perfect they are, meaning the less the circumstances are known in advance, the more there is left to figure out. A common imperfection is delay, or the existence of a latent period between the introduction of an agent and the appearance of its effects; thus, it can’t be the direct cause, even though it may be an essential remote condition of any change that takes place. If you’re not feeling well and you take a drug, then feel better sometime later, it’s not clear just based on that alone that the drug caused your recovery, because other healing processes might have been happening at the same time—like eating, sleeping, or exercising.
Any book of Physics or of Chemistry will furnish scores of examples of the method of Difference: such as Galileo's experiment to show that air has weight, by first weighing a vessel filled with ordinary air, and then filling it with condensed air and weighing it again; when the increased weight can only be due to the greater quantity of air contained. The melting-point of solids is determined by heating them until they do melt (as silver at 1000° C., gold at 1250°, platinum at 2000°); for the only difference between bodies at the time of melting and just before is the addition of so much heat. Similarly with the boiling point of liquids. That the transmission of sound depends upon the continuity of an elastic ponderable medium, is proved by letting a clock strike in a vacuum (under a glass from which the air has been withdrawn by an air pump), and standing upon a non-elastic pedestal: when the clock be seen to strike, but makes only such a faint sound [Pg 220]as may be due to the imperfections of the vacuum and the pedestal.
Any physics or chemistry book will provide plenty of examples of the method of Difference: like Galileo's experiment to demonstrate that air has weight. He first weighed a container filled with regular air, then filled it with compressed air and weighed it again; the increase in weight can only be attributed to the higher amount of air inside. The melting point of solids is determined by heating them until they melt (for instance, silver melts at 1000°C, gold at 1250°C, and platinum at 2000°C); the only difference between substances at the moment of melting and just before is the addition of heat. The same goes for the boiling point of liquids. The idea that sound travels through a continuous elastic medium is shown by letting a clock strike in a vacuum (created by removing the air from a glass with a vacuum pump) and standing on a non-elastic surface: you can see the clock strike, but it makes only a faint sound that might be due to the imperfections of the vacuum and the pedestal. [Pg 220]
The experiments by which the chemical analysis or synthesis of various forms of matter is demonstrated are simple or compound applications of this method of Difference, together with the quantitative mark of causation (that cause and effect are equal); since the bodies resulting from an analysis are equal in weight to the body analysed, and the body resulting from a synthesis is equal in weight to the bodies synthesised. That an electric current resolves water into oxygen and hydrogen may be proved by inserting the poles of a galvanic battery in a vessel of water; when this one change is followed by another, the rise of bubbles from each pole and the very gradual decrease of the water. If the bubbles are caught in receivers placed over them, it can be shown that the joint weight of the two bodies of gas thus formed is equal to the weight of the water that has disappeared; and that the gases are respectively oxygen and hydrogen may then be shown by proving that they have the properties of those gases according to further experiments by the method of Difference; as (e.g.) that one of them is oxygen because it supports combustion, etc.
The experiments that demonstrate the chemical analysis or synthesis of different types of matter are either simple or complex applications of this method of Difference, along with the quantitative principle of causation (that cause and effect are equal). This is because the weight of the resulting substances from an analysis matches the weight of the substance analyzed, and the weight of the substance formed from a synthesis is equal to the weight of the substances synthesized. For example, an electric current can break down water into oxygen and hydrogen, which can be shown by placing the terminals of a galvanic battery in a container of water; this initial change is followed by the appearance of bubbles at each terminal and a gradual decrease in the water level. If the bubbles are collected in containers placed above them, it can be demonstrated that the combined weight of the two gases formed equals the weight of the water that has been lost. Additionally, to confirm that the gases are indeed oxygen and hydrogen, further experiments using the method of Difference can show their specific properties; for instance, one gas is oxygen because it supports combustion, and so on.
When water was first decomposed by the electric current, there appeared not only oxygen and hydrogen, but also an acid and an alkali. These products were afterwards traced to impurities of the water and of the operator's hands. Mill observes that in any experiment the effect, or part of it, may be due, not to the supposed agent, but to the means employed in introducing it. We should know not only the other conditions of an experiment, but that the agent or change introduced is nothing else than what it is supposed to be.
When water was first split using electric current, it produced not just oxygen and hydrogen, but also an acid and a base. These products were later found to come from impurities in the water and on the operator's hands. Mill points out that in any experiment, the results, or part of them, may not come from the expected agent, but rather from how it was introduced. We need to understand not only the other factors at play in an experiment, but also that the agent or change we introduce is exactly what we think it is.
In the more complex sciences the method of Difference is less easily applicable, because of the greater difficulty of being sure that only one circumstance at a time has altered; [Pg 221]still, it is frequently used. Thus, if by dividing a certain nerve certain muscles are paralysed, it is shown that normally that nerve controls those muscles. That the sense of smell in flies and cockroaches is connected with the antennae has been shown by cutting them off: whereupon the insects can no longer find carrion. In his work on Earthworms, Darwin shows that, though sensitive to mechanical tremors, they are deaf (or, at least, not sensitive to sonorous vibrations transmitted through the air), by the following experiment. He placed a pot containing a worm that had come to the surface, as usual at night, upon a table, whilst close by a piano was violently played; but the worm took no notice of the noise. He then placed the pot upon the piano, whilst it was being played, when the worm, probably feeling mechanical vibrations, hastily slid back into its burrow.
In more complex sciences, the method of Difference is harder to apply because it's tougher to be sure that only one factor has changed at a time; [Pg 221]however, it’s still commonly used. For example, if cutting a specific nerve causes certain muscles to become paralyzed, it indicates that the nerve normally controls those muscles. It has been demonstrated that the sense of smell in flies and cockroaches is linked to their antennae by removing them; after that, the insects can no longer locate decaying matter. In his work on Earthworms, Darwin illustrates that while they can sense mechanical vibrations, they are deaf (or at least not responsive to sound vibrations carried through the air) through the following experiment. He put a pot with a worm that had come to the surface, as usual at night, on a table while a piano was being played loudly nearby; the worm didn’t react to the noise. Then, he placed the pot on the piano while it played, and the worm, likely sensing the mechanical vibrations, quickly slid back into its burrow.
When, instead of altering one circumstance in an instance (which we have done our best not otherwise to disturb) and then watching what follows, we try to find two ready-made instances of a phenomenon, which only differ in one other circumstance, it is, of course, still more difficult to be sure that there is only one other circumstance in which they differ. It may be worth while, however, to look for such instances. Thus, that the temperature of ocean currents influences the climate of the shores they wash, seems to be shown by the fact that the average temperature of Newfoundland is lower than that of the Norwegian coast some 15° farther north. Both regions have great continents at their back; and as the mountains of Norway are higher and capped with perennial snow, we might expect a colder climate there: but the shore of Norway is visited by the Gulf Stream, whilst the shore of Newfoundland is traversed by a cold current from Greenland. Again, when in 1841 the railway from Rouen to Paris was being built, gangs of English and gangs of French workmen were employed upon it, and the English [Pg 222]got through about one-third more work per man than the French. It was suspected that this difference was due to one other difference, namely, that the English fed better, preferring beef to thin soup. Now, logically, it might have been objected that the evidence was unsatisfactory, seeing that the men differed in other things besides diet—in 'race' (say), which explains so much and so easily. But the Frenchmen, having been induced to try the same diet as the English, were, in a few days, able to do as much work: so that the "two instances" were better than they looked. It often happens that evidence, though logically questionable, is good when used by experts, whose familiarity with the subject makes it good.
When, instead of changing one factor in a situation (which we have tried hard not to disturb) and then observing the outcome, we look for two pre-existing examples of a phenomenon that only differ in one other factor, it’s obviously even more challenging to ensure that they differ in just one area. However, it might be worthwhile to search for such examples. For instance, the temperature of ocean currents seems to affect the climate of the coastlines they reach, as evidenced by the fact that the average temperature of Newfoundland is lower than that of the Norwegian coast, which is about 15° further north. Both areas have substantial continents behind them, and since the mountains in Norway are taller and topped with permanent snow, we might expect a colder climate there. However, the Norwegian coast is warmed by the Gulf Stream, while Newfoundland's coast is affected by a cold current coming from Greenland. Furthermore, when the railway from Rouen to Paris was being built in 1841, groups of English and French workers were employed on it, with the English workers completing about one-third more work per person than the French. It was thought that this difference was due to one specific factor: the English had better diets, preferring beef over thin soup. Logically, one could argue that the evidence was not convincing, given that the workers differed in other aspects besides diet—like 'race,' for instance, which is an easy explanation. But the French workers, after being persuaded to try the same diet as the English, were able to match the English workers’ output in just a few days, indicating that the "two instances" were better than they first appeared. It often happens that while evidence may be logically questionable, it can still be valid when assessed by experts who have a deep understanding of the topic.
§ 4. The Canon of Concomitant Variations.
Whatever phenomenon varies in any manner whenever another phenomenon (consequent or antecedent) varies in some particular manner [no other change having concurred] is either the cause or effect of that phenomenon [or is connected with it through some fact of causation].
Any phenomenon that changes in any way when another phenomenon (either before or after it) changes in a specific way [without any other change happening] is either the cause or effect of that phenomenon [or is related to it through some cause-and-effect relationship].
This is not an entirely fresh method, but may be regarded as a special case either of Agreement or of Difference, to prove the cause or effect, not of a phenomenon as a whole, but of some increment of it (positive or negative). There are certain forces, such as gravitation, heat, friction, that can never be eliminated altogether, and therefore can only be studied in their degrees. To such phenomena the method of Difference cannot be applied, because there are no negative instances. But we may obtain negative instances of a given quantity of such a phenomenon (say, heat), and may apply the method of Difference to that quantity. Thus, if the heat of a body increases 10 degrees, from 60 to 70, the former temperature of 60 was a negative instance in respect of those 10 [Pg 223]degrees; and if only one other circumstance (say, friction) has altered at the same time, that circumstance (if an antecedent) is the cause. Accordingly, if in the above Canon we insert, after 'particular manner,' "[no other change having concurred,]" it is a statement of the method of Difference as applicable to the increment of a phenomenon, instead of to the phenomenon as a whole; and we may then omit the last clause—"[or is connected, etc.]." For these words are inserted to provide for the case of co-effects of a common cause (such as the flash and report of a gun); but if no other change (such as the discharge of a gun) has concurred with the variations of two phenomena, there cannot have been a common cause, and they are therefore cause and effect.
This isn't a completely new method, but it can be seen as a specific case of either Agreement or Difference to demonstrate the cause or effect, not of an entire phenomenon, but of its specific change (whether that change is positive or negative). Certain forces, like gravity, heat, and friction, can never be completely eliminated, so they can only be studied in terms of their degrees. The method of Difference can't be applied to these phenomena because there aren’t any negative examples. However, we can get negative examples of a specific amount of such a phenomenon (like heat) and apply the method of Difference to that amount. For instance, if a body’s heat increases by 10 degrees, from 60 to 70, the initial temperature of 60 serves as a negative example in relation to those 10 [Pg 223]degrees; if only one other factor (like friction) has changed at the same time, that factor (if it happened first) is the cause. Therefore, if we add “[no other change having occurred]” after “particular manner” in the above Canon, it reflects the method of Difference as it applies to the change in a phenomenon, rather than the phenomenon as a whole; and we can omit the last part—“[or is connected, etc.].” Those words are included to address situations where multiple effects come from a common cause (like the flash and sound of a gun); but if no other change (like the firing of a gun) has occurred alongside the changes of two phenomena, there can't be a common cause, making them strictly cause and effect.
If, on the other hand, we omit the clause "[no other change having concurred,]" the Canon is a statement of the method of Agreement as applicable to the increment of a phenomenon instead of to the phenomenon as a whole; and it is then subject to the imperfections of that method: that is to say, it leaves open the possibilities, that an inquirer may overlook a plurality of causes; or may mistake a connection of two phenomena, which (like the flash and report of a gun) are co-effects of a common cause, for a direct relation of cause and effect.
If we leave out the phrase "[no other change having concurred,]" the Canon becomes a description of the Agreement method as it relates to the increase of a phenomenon instead of the phenomenon itself. This exposes it to the flaws of that method, meaning there's a chance that a researcher might miss multiple causes or might confuse the relationship between two events—like the flash and sound of a gun, which are both results of a single cause—with a straightforward cause-and-effect relationship.
It may occur to the reader that we ought also to distinguish Qualitative and Quantitative Variations as two orders of phenomena to which the present method is applicable. But, in fact, Qualitative Variations may be adequately dealt with by the foregoing methods of Agreement, Double Agreement, and Difference; because a change of quality or property entirely gets rid of the former phase of that quality, or substitutes one for another; as when the ptarmigan changes from brown to white in winter, or as when a stag grows and sheds its antlers with the course of the seasons. The peculiar use of the method of Variations, however, is to formulate the [Pg 224]conditions of proof in respect of those causes or effects which cannot be entirely got rid of, but can be obtained only in greater or less amount; and such phenomena are or course, quantitative.
It might occur to the reader that we should also differentiate between Qualitative and Quantitative Variations as two types of phenomena to which the current method applies. However, Qualitative Variations can be adequately addressed using the previous methods of Agreement, Double Agreement, and Difference; because a change in quality or characteristic completely eliminates the previous state of that quality, or replaces it with another; like when the ptarmigan changes from brown to white in winter, or when a stag grows and sheds its antlers with the seasons. The specific purpose of the Variations method, however, is to establish the [Pg 224]conditions of proof regarding those causes or effects that cannot be entirely eliminated but can only be observed in varying degrees; and such phenomena are, of course, quantitative.
Even when there are two parallel series of phenomena the one quantitative and the other qualitative—like the rate of air-vibration and the pitch of sound, or the rate of ether-vibration and the colour-series of the spectrum—the method of Variations is not applicable. For (1) two such series cannot be said to vary together, since the qualitative variations are heterogeneous: 512: 576 is a definite ratio; but the corresponding notes, C, D, in the treble clef, present only a difference. Hence (2) the correspondence of each note with each number is a distinct fact. Each octave even is a distinct fact; there is a difference between C 64 and C 128 that could never have been anticipated without the appropriate experience. There is, therefore, no such law of these parallel series as there is for temperature and change of volume (say) in mercury. Similar remarks apply to the physical and sensitive light-series.
Even when there are two parallel series of phenomena—one quantitative and the other qualitative, like the rate of air vibration and the pitch of sound, or the rate of ether vibration and the color series of the spectrum—the method of Variations can’t be applied. (1) These two series can't be said to vary together because the qualitative variations are different: 512: 576 is a specific ratio, but the corresponding notes, C and D, in the treble clef, only show a difference. Therefore, (2) the match between each note and each number is a unique fact. Each octave is also a unique fact; there's a difference between C 64 and C 128 that could never have been anticipated without the right experience. Thus, there’s no law governing these parallel series like there is for temperature and changes in volume (for example) in mercury. Similar observations apply to the physical and sensitive light series.
We may illustrate the two cases of the method thus (putting a dash against any letter, A' or p', to signify an increase or decrease of the phenomenon the letter stands for): Agreement in Variations (other changes being admissible)—
We can show the two cases of the method like this (using a dash next to any letter, A' or p', to indicate an increase or decrease in the phenomenon that the letter represents): Agreement in Variations (other changes being acceptable)—
A | B | C | A' | D | E | A'' | F | G | ||
p | q | r | p' | s | t | p'' | u | v |
Here the accompanying phenomena (B C q r, D E s t, F G u v) change from time to time, and the one thing in which the instances agree throughout is that any increase of A (A' or A'') is followed or accompanied by an increase of p (p' or p''): whence it is argued that A is the cause of p, according to Prop. III. (a) (ch. xv. § 7). Still, it is supposable that, in the second instance, D or E may be the [Pg 225]cause of the increment of p; and that, in the third instance, F or G may be its cause: though the probability of such vicarious causation decreases rapidly with the increase of instances in which A and p vary together. And, since an actual investigation of this type must rely on observation, it is further possible that some undiscovered cause, X, is the real determinant of both A and p and of their concomitant variations.
Here, the related phenomena (B C q r, D E s t, F G u v) change from time to time, and the one consistent factor is that any increase in A (A' or A'') is followed or accompanied by an increase in p (p' or p''): from this, it is argued that A causes p, according to Prop. III. (a) (ch. xv. § 7). However, it’s possible that in the second instance, D or E could be the cause of the increase in p; and in the third instance, F or G might be responsible for it: although the likelihood of such alternative causation decreases quickly as more instances of A and p varying together are observed. Since an actual investigation of this nature must depend on observation, it’s also possible that some undiscovered cause, X, is the true determinant of both A and p and their accompanying variations.
Professor Ferri, in his Criminal Sociology, observes: "I have shown that in France there is a manifest correspondence of increase and decrease between the number of homicides, assaults and malicious wounding, and the more or less abundant vintage, especially in the years of extraordinary variations, whether of failure of the vintage (1853-5, 1859, 1867, 1873, 1878-80), attended by a remarkable diminution of crime (assaults and wounding), or of abundant vintages (1850, 1856-8, 1862-3, 1865, 1868, 1874-5), attended by an increase of crime" (p. 117, Eng. trans.). And earlier he had remarked that such crimes also "in their oscillations from month to month display a characteristic increase during the vintage periods, from June to December, notwithstanding the constant diminution of other offences" (p. 77). This is necessarily an appeal to the canon of Concomitant Variations, because France is never without her annual vintage, nor yet without her annual statistics of crime. Still, it is an argument whose cogency is only that of Agreement, showing that probably the abuse of the vintage is a cause of crimes of violence, but leaving open the supposition, that some other circumstance or circumstances, arising or varying from year to year, may determine the increase or decrease of crime; or that there is some unconsidered agent which affects both the vintage and crimes of violence. French sunshine, it might be urged, whilst it matures the generous grape, also excites a morbid fermentation in the human mind.
Professor Ferri, in his Criminal Sociology, notes: "I have shown that in France there is a clear link between the rise and fall in the number of homicides, assaults, and malicious wounding, and the abundance of the vintage, especially during years of significant variations, whether due to poor harvests (1853-5, 1859, 1867, 1873, 1878-80), which saw a notable drop in crime (assaults and wounding), or during years of plentiful vintages (1850, 1856-8, 1862-3, 1865, 1868, 1874-5), which correlated with an increase in crime" (p. 117, Eng. trans.). Earlier, he pointed out that such crimes also "show a characteristic rise during the vintage periods, from June to December, despite a steady decline in other offenses" (p. 77). This is essentially an appeal to the principle of Concomitant Variations, as France always has its annual vintage and its yearly crime statistics. However, this argument is only as strong as its Agreement, suggesting that the misuse of the vintage likely contributes to violent crimes, while also allowing for the possibility that other factors, changing year by year, could influence the rise or fall of crime, or that there is some overlooked factor affecting both the vintage and violent crimes. It could be argued that French sunshine, while ripening the grapes, also stimulates a troubling fermentation in the human mind.
Difference in Variations may be symbolically represented thus (no other change having concurred):
Difference in variations can be symbolically represented like this (without any other changes occurring):
A | B | A' | B | A'' | B | ||
p | q, | p' | q, | p'' | q. |
Here the accompanying phenomena are always the same B/q; and the only point in which the successive instances differ is in the increments of A (A', A'') followed by corresponding increments of p (p', p''): hence the increment of A is the cause of the increment of p.
Here, the related phenomena are always the same B/q; and the only difference in the successive instances is in the increases of A (A', A'') followed by corresponding increases of p (p', p''): therefore, the increase of A causes the increase of p.
For examples of the application of this method, the reader should refer to some work of exact science. He will find in Deschanel's Natural Philosophy, c. 32, an account of some experiments by which the connection between heat and mechanical work has been established. It is there shown that "whenever work is performed by the agency of heat" [as in driving an engine], "an amount of heat disappears equivalent to the work performed; and whenever mechanical work is spent in generating heat" [as in rubbing two sticks together], "the heat generated is equivalent to the work thus spent." And an experiment of Joule's is described, which consisted in fixing a rod with paddles in a vessel of water, and making it revolve and agitate the water by means of a string wound round the rod, passed over a pulley and attached to a weight that was allowed to fall. The descent of the weight was measured by a graduated rule, and the rise of the water's temperature by a thermometer. "It was found that the heat communicated to the water by the agitation amounted to one pound-degree Fahrenheit for every 772 foot-pounds of work" expended by the falling weight. As no other material change seems to take place during such an experiment, it shows that the progressive expenditure of mechanical energy is the cause of the progressive heating of the water.
For examples of how this method is applied, readers should look at some works of exact science. In Deschanel's Natural Philosophy, c. 32, there's a description of experiments that establish the link between heat and mechanical work. It shows that "whenever work is done using heat" [like running an engine], "an amount of heat equivalent to the work done disappears; and whenever mechanical work is used to generate heat" [like rubbing two sticks together], "the heat produced equals the work spent." There's also an experiment by Joule, where a rod with paddles was fixed in a water container and rotated to stir the water using a string wrapped around the rod, passed over a pulley, and attached to a weight that was allowed to drop. The weight's descent was measured with a graduated scale, and the water temperature's rise was tracked with a thermometer. "It was found that the heat transferred to the water by the stirring was one pound-degree Fahrenheit for every 772 foot-pounds of work" used by the falling weight. Since no other significant changes occur during this experiment, it demonstrates that the continuous use of mechanical energy causes the water to heat up progressively.
The thermometer itself illustrates this method. It has been found that the application of heat to mercury expands it according to a law; and hence the volume of the mercury, measured by a graduated index, is used to indicate the temperature of the air, water, animal body, etc., in which the thermometer is immersed, or with which it is brought into contact. In such cases, if no other change has taken place, the heat of the air, water, or body is the cause of the rise of the mercury in its tube. If some other substance (say spirit) be substituted for mercury in constructing a thermometer, it serves the same purpose, provided the index be graduated according to the law of the expansion of that substance by heat, as experimentally determined.
The thermometer itself demonstrates this method. It has been discovered that applying heat to mercury causes it to expand according to a specific law; therefore, the volume of mercury, measured by a graduated scale, is used to show the temperature of the air, water, animal body, etc., with which the thermometer is either immersed or in contact. In these cases, if no other changes occur, the heat from the air, water, or body causes the mercury to rise in its tube. If another substance (like alcohol) replaces mercury in making a thermometer, it will perform the same function, as long as the scale is calibrated based on the expansion law of that substance when heated, as determined through experiments.
Instances of phenomena that do not vary together indicate the exclusion of a supposed cause (by Prop. III (c)). The stature of the human race has been supposed to depend on temperature; but there is no correspondence. The "not varying together," however, must not be confused with "varying inversely," which when regular indicates a true concomitance. It is often a matter of convenience whether we regard concomitant phenomena as varying directly or inversely. It is usual to say—'the greater the friction the less the speed'; but it is really more intelligible to say—'the greater the friction the more rapidly molar is converted into molecular motion.'
Instances of phenomena that don't change together suggest that a supposed cause can be ruled out (as stated in Prop. III (c)). It's been thought that the height of the human race depends on temperature, but there’s no real connection. However, "not changing together" shouldn’t be confused with "changing inversely," which, when consistent, indicates a true relationship. Whether we see related phenomena as changing directly or inversely often depends on convenience. It’s common to say—'the more friction there is, the slower the speed'; but it’s actually clearer to say—'the more friction there is, the more quickly molar motion turns into molecular motion.'
The Graphic Method exhibits Concomitant Variations to the eye, and is extensively used in physical and statistical inquiries. Along a horizontal line (the abscissa) is measured one of the conditions (or agents) with which the inquiry is concerned, called the Variable; and along perpendiculars (ordinates) is measured some phenomenon to be compared with it, called the Variant.
The Graphic Method shows Concomitant Variations clearly and is widely used in physical and statistical studies. One of the conditions (or factors) involved in the study, referred to as the Variable, is measured along a horizontal line (the x-axis). Meanwhile, some phenomenon that is compared to it, known as the Variant, is measured along the vertical lines (the y-axis).

In the next diagram (Fig. 10), reduced from one given by Mr. C.H. Denyer in an article on the Price of Tea (Economic Journal, No. 9), the condition measured horizontally is Time; and, vertically, three variants are measured simultaneously, so that their relations to one another from time to time may be seen at a glance. From this it is evident that, as the duty on tea falls, the price of tea falls, whilst the consumption of tea rises; and, in spite of some irregularity of correspondence in the courses of the three phenomena, their general causal connection can hardly be mistaken. However, the causal connection may also be inferred by general reasoning; the statistical Induction can be confirmed by a Deduction; thus illustrating the combined method of proof to be discussed in the next chapter. Without such confirmation the proof by Concomitant Variations would not be complete; because, from the complexity of the circumstances, social statistics can only yield evidence according to the method of Agreement in Variations. For, besides the agents that are measured, there may always be some other important influence at work. During the last fifty years, for example, crime has decreased whilst education has increased: true, but at the same time wages have risen and many other things have happened.
In the next diagram (Fig. 10), adapted from one provided by Mr. C.H. Denyer in an article on the Price of Tea (Economic Journal, No. 9), the condition measured horizontally is Time; while three variables are measured vertically at the same time, allowing us to see their relationships over time at a glance. It's clear that as the tax on tea decreases, the price of tea goes down, while tea consumption increases; and despite some irregularities in how these three trends correspond, their overall causal connection is hard to miss. Additionally, this causal link can be established through general reasoning; statistical induction can be backed up by deduction, illustrating the combined proof method that will be discussed in the next chapter. Without this confirmation, the proof through Concomitant Variations would be incomplete, as social statistics can only provide evidence through the method of Agreement in Variations due to the complexity of factors involved. For instance, over the past fifty years, while crime has decreased and education has increased—true—but wages have also risen, and many other changes have occurred.
Diagram showing (1)— · — · the average Price of Tea (in bond), but with duty added per lb.; (2)· · · · · · the rate of Duty; (3)---------- the consumption per head, from 1809 to 1889.
Diagram showing (1)— · — · the average price of tea (in bond), including duty per lb.; (2)· · · · · · the duty rate; (3)---------- the consumption per person, from 1809 to 1889.

One horizontal space = 5 years. One vertical space = 6 pence, or 6 ounces.
One horizontal space = 5 years. One vertical space = 6 pence, or 6 ounces.
It will be noticed that in the diagram the three lines, especially those of Price and Consumption (which may be considered natural resultants, in contrast with the arbitrary fixation of a Tax), do not depart widely from regular curves; and accordingly, assuming the causes at work to vary continuously during the intervals between points of measurement, curves may be substituted. In fact, a curve often represents the course of a phenomenon more truthfully than can be done by a line that zigzags along the exact measurements; because it is less influenced by temporary and extraordinary causes that may obscure the operation of those that are being investigated. On the other hand, the abrupt deviations of a punctilious zigzag may have their own logical value, as will appear in the next section.
It can be observed that in the diagram, the three lines, particularly those of Price and Consumption (which can be seen as natural results, unlike the arbitrary setting of a Tax), don't stray too far from regular curves. Therefore, if we assume that the causes at play change continuously between the measurement points, we can replace lines with curves. In fact, a curve often reflects the trend of a phenomenon more accurately than a line that zigzags through the exact measurements, because it’s less affected by temporary and unusual factors that might obscure the effects we are trying to analyze. On the other hand, the sudden changes in a precise zigzag can hold their own logical significance, as will be discussed in the next section.
In working with the Method of Variations one must allow for the occurrence in a series of 'critical points,' at which sudden and sometimes heterogeneous changes may take place. Every substance exists at different temperatures in three states, gaseous, liquid, solid; and when the change takes place, from one state to another, the series of variations is broken. Water, e.g., follows the general law that cooling is accompanied by decrease of volume between 212° and 39° F.: but above 212°, undergoes a sudden expansion in becoming a gas; and below 39° begins to expand, until at 32° the expansion is considerable on its becoming solid. This illustrates a common experience that concomitant variations are most regular in the 'median range,' and are apt to become irregular at the extremities of the series, where new conditions begin to operate.
In working with the Method of Variations, one must consider the presence of 'critical points' in a series, where sudden and sometimes varied changes can occur. Every substance exists in three states—gas, liquid, and solid—at different temperatures, and when a change happens from one state to another, the series of variations is interrupted. Water, for example, follows the general rule that cooling
The Canon of Variations, again, deals not with sudden irruptions of a cause, force or agent, but with some increase or decrease of an agent already present, and a corresponding increase or decrease of some other phenomenon—say an increase of tax and a rise of price. But there are cases [Pg 231]in which the energy of a cause is not immediately discharged and dissipated. Whilst a tax of 6d. per lb. on tea raises the price per lb. by about 6d., however long it lasts, the continuous application of friction to a body may gradually raise its temperature to the point of combustion; because heat is received faster than it is radiated, and therefore accumulates. Such cases are treated by Mill under the title of 'progressive effects' (Logic: B. III., c. 15): he gives as an example of it the acceleration of falling bodies. The storage of effects is a fact of the utmost importance in all departments of nature, and is especially interesting in Biology and Sociology, where it is met with as heredity, experience, tradition. Evolution of species of plants and animals would (so far as we know) be impossible, if the changes (however caused) that adapt some individuals better than others to the conditions of life were not inherited by, and accumulated in, their posterity. The eyes in the peacock's tail are supposed to have reached their present perfection gradually, through various stages that may be illustrated by the ocelli in the wings of the Argus pheasant and other genera of Phasianidæ. Similarly the progress of societies would be impossible without tradition, whereby the improvements made in any generation may be passed on to the next, and the experience of mankind may be gradually accumulated in various forms of culture. The earliest remains of culture are flint implements and weapons; in which we can trace the effect of tradition in the lives of our remote forefathers, as they slowly through thousands of years learnt to improve the chipping of flints, until the first rudely shaped lumps gave place to works of unmistakable design, and these to the beautiful weapons contemporary with the Bronze Age.
The Canon of Variations addresses not sudden outbursts of a cause, force, or agent, but rather the increase or decrease of an agent that is already present, along with a corresponding rise or fall in another phenomenon—like an increase in taxes leading to a rise in prices. However, there are situations [Pg 231] where the energy of a cause doesn't immediately get released or dissipated. For instance, while a tax of 6d. per lb. on tea raises the price per lb. by about 6d., regardless of how long it lasts, the continuous application of friction to an object can gradually increase its temperature to the point of combustion; this is because heat is generated faster than it is lost, allowing it to build up. Mill discusses such instances under the concept of 'progressive effects' (Logic: B. III., c. 15), citing the acceleration of falling bodies as an example. The accumulation of effects is critically important across all areas of nature and is particularly fascinating in Biology and Sociology, where it manifests as heredity, experience, and tradition. The evolution of plant and animal species would (as far as we know) be impossible if the changes (regardless of their cause) that better equip certain individuals for their environment weren't inherited and built up in their descendants. The eye patterns in the peacock's tail are thought to have evolved gradually through various stages, which can be illustrated by the ocelli in the wings of the Argus pheasant and other members of the Phasianidæ family. Likewise, societies would find it impossible to progress without tradition, which allows improvements made in one generation to be passed down to the next, enabling humanity's experiences to accumulate over time in different cultural forms. The earliest signs of culture are flint tools and weapons; from these, we can trace how tradition impacted the lives of our distant ancestors, as they gradually improved their flint-knapping techniques over thousands of years, transitioning from crude stones to beautifully crafted weapons that were contemporaneous with the Bronze Age.
The Method of Gradations, the arranging of any phenomena to be studied in series, according to the degree in which some character is exhibited, is, perhaps, the most [Pg 232]definite device in the Art of Discovery. (Bain: Induction, c. 6, and App. II.) If the causes are unknown it is likely to suggest hypotheses: and if the causes are partly known, variation in the character of the series is likely to indicate a corresponding variation of the conditions.
The Method of Gradations, which involves organizing any phenomena to be studied in a sequence based on how much a certain characteristic appears, is probably the most definite tool in the Art of Discovery. (Bain: Induction, c. 6, and App. II.) If the causes are not fully understood, this method may help generate hypotheses; and if the causes are somewhat known, changes in the characteristics of the series are likely to show changes in the conditions.
§ 5. The Canon of Residues.
Subduct from any phenomenon such part as previous inductions have shown to be the effect of certain antecedents, and the residue of the phenomenon is the effect of the remaining antecedents.
Remove from any phenomenon those parts that previous inductions have shown to result from certain causes, and what’s left of the phenomenon is the result of the remaining causes.
The phenomenon is here assumed to be an effect: a similar Canon may be framed for residuary causes.
The phenomenon is assumed to be an effect: a similar framework can be created for leftover causes.
This also is not a fresh method, but a special case of the method of Difference. For if we suppose the phenomenon to be p q r, and the antecedent to be A B C, and that we already know B and C to have (either severally or together) the consequents q r, in which their efficacy is exhausted; we may regard
This isn't a new method; it's a specific instance of the method of Difference. If we assume the phenomenon to be p q r and the antecedent to be A B C, and we already know that B and C (either individually or together) lead to the results q r, in which their effectiveness is fully utilized; we can consider
B | C |
q | r |
as an instance of the absence of p obtained deductively from the whole phenomenon
as an example of the lack of p derived logically from the entire phenomenon
A | B | C |
p | q | r |
by our knowledge of the laws of B and C; so that
by our understanding of the laws of B and C; so that
A | B | C |
p | q | r |
is an instance of the presence of p, differing otherwise from
is an example of the presence of p, differing otherwise from
B | C |
q | r |
in nothing except that A is also present. By the Canon of Difference, therefore A is the cause of p. Or, again, when phenomena thus treated are strictly quantitative, the method may be based on Prop. III. (b), ch. xv. § 7.
in nothing except that A is also present. By the Canon of Difference, therefore A is the cause of p. Or, again, when phenomena thus treated are strictly quantitative, the method may be based on Prop. III. (b), ch. xv. § 7.
Of course, if A can be obtained apart from B C and directly experimented with so as to produce p, so much the better; and this may often be done; but the special value of the method of Residues appears, when some complex phenomenon has been for the most part accounted [Pg 233]for by known causes, whilst there remains some excess, or shortcoming, or deviation from the result which those causes alone would lead us to expect, and this residuary fact has to be explained in relation to the whole. Here the negative instance is constituted by deduction, showing what would happen but for the interference of some unknown cause which is to be investigated; and this prominence of the deductive process has led some writers to class the method as deductive. But we have seen that all the Canons involve deduction; and, considering how much in every experiment is assumed as already known (what circumstances are 'material,' and when conditions may be called 'the same'), the wonder is that no one has insisted upon regarding every method as concerned with residues. In fact, as scientific explanation progresses, the phenomena that may be considered as residuary become more numerous and the importance of this method increases.
Of course, if we can get A without B and C and test it directly to produce p, that's great; and often this can be done. However, the real strength of the method of Residues shows up when a complex phenomenon has mostly been explained by known causes, but there's still some extra, missing, or unexpected outcome that those causes alone wouldn’t predict, and we need to explain this leftover fact in the context of the whole situation. Here, the negative example is formed by deduction, illustrating what would occur if it weren't for some unknown cause that needs investigation; this focus on the deductive process has led some writers to categorize the method as deductive. Yet, we have seen that all the Canons involve deduction; and given how much in each experiment is assumed to be already known (like which circumstances are 'important' and when we can say conditions are 'the same'), it's surprising that no one has insisted on viewing every method as dealing with residues. In fact, as scientific explanations advance, the number of phenomena that can be seen as residual increases, and the significance of this method grows.
Examples: The recorded dates of ancient eclipses having been found to differ from those assigned by calculation, it appears that the average length of a day has in the meanwhile increased. This is a residuary phenomenon not accounted for by the causes formerly recognised as determining the rotation of the earth on its axis; and it may be explained by the consideration that the friction of the tides reduces the rate of the earth's rotation, and thereby lengthens the day. Astronomy abounds in examples of the method of Residues, of which the discovery of Neptune is the most famous.
Examples: The recorded dates of ancient eclipses have been found to differ from those determined by calculations, suggesting that the average length of a day has increased over time. This residual phenomenon isn't explained by the causes previously recognized as influencing the Earth's rotation on its axis; it can be understood by considering that the friction from the tides slows down the Earth's rotation, which in turn lengthens the day. Astronomy is full of examples of the method of Residues, with the discovery of Neptune being the most famous.
Capillarity seems to be a striking exception to the principle that water (or any liquid) 'finds its level,' that being the condition of equilibrium; yet capillarity proves to be only a refined case of equilibrium when account is taken of the forces of adhesion exerted by different kinds of bodies in contact.
Capillarity appears to be a clear exception to the idea that water (or any liquid) 'finds its level,' which is the state of equilibrium; however, capillarity actually turns out to be just a more complex example of equilibrium when you consider the adhesive forces exerted by different types of materials in contact.
"Many of the new elements of Chemistry," says Herschel,[Pg 234] "have been detected in the investigation of residual phenomena." Thus, Lord Rayleigh and Sir W. Ramsay found that nitrogen from the atmosphere was slightly heavier than nitrogen got from chemical sources; and, seeking the cause of this difference, discovered argon.
"Many of the new elements of Chemistry," says Herschel,[Pg 234] "have been detected through the study of residual phenomena." As a result, Lord Rayleigh and Sir W. Ramsay discovered that atmospheric nitrogen is slightly heavier than nitrogen obtained from chemical sources; in exploring the reason for this difference, they found argon.
The Economist shows that when a country imports goods the chief means of paying for them is to export other goods. If this were all, imports and exports would be of equal value: yet the United Kingdom imports about £400,000,000 annually, and exports about £300,000,000. Here, then, is a residuary phenomenon of £100,000,000 to be accounted for. But foreign countries owe us about £50,000,000 for the use of shipping, and £70,000,000 as interest on the capital we have lent them, and £15,000,000 in commissions upon business transacted for them. These sums added together amount to £135,000,000; and that is £35,000,000 too much. Thus another residuary phenomenon emerges; for whilst foreigners seem to owe us £435,000,000 they only send us £400,000,000 of imports. These £35,000,000 are accounted for by the annual investment of our capital abroad, in return for which no immediate payment is due; and, these being omitted, exports and imports balance. Since this was written the figures of our foreign trade have greatly risen; but the character of the explanation remains the same.
The Economist points out that when a country imports goods, the main way to pay for them is by exporting other goods. If that were the only factor, imports and exports would be equal in value; however, the United Kingdom imports about £400 million a year and exports about £300 million. This creates a leftover difference of £100 million that needs to be explained. Foreign countries owe us about £50 million for using our shipping services, £70 million as interest on the money we've lent them, and £15 million in commissions for business done on their behalf. These amounts total £135 million, which is £35 million more than what we should receive. Thus, another leftover difference arises: while foreigners seem to owe us £435 million, they only send us £400 million in imports. This £35 million comes from our annual investment of capital abroad, for which no immediate payment is expected; when we exclude this amount, exports and imports balance out. Since this was written, the figures for our foreign trade have increased significantly, but the nature of the explanation remains unchanged.
When, in pursuing the method of Variations, the phenomena compared do not always correspond in their fluctuations, the irregular movements of that phenomenon which we regard as the effect may often be explained by treating them as residuary phenomena, and then seeking for exceptional causes, whose temporary interference has obscured the influence of the general cause. Thus, returning to the diagram of the Price of Tea in § 4, it is clear that generally the price falls as the duty falls; but in Mr. Denyer's more minutely wrought diagram, from which this is reduced, it may be seen that in 1840 the price of [Pg 235]tea rose from 3s. 9d. to 4s. 9d. without any increase of duty. This, however, is readily explained by the Chinese War of that year, which checked the supply. Again, from 1869 to 1889 the duty was constant, whilst the price of tea fell as much as 8d. per lb.; but this residuary phenomenon is explained by the prodigiously increased production of tea during that period in India and Ceylon.
When using the method of Variations, the phenomena being compared don't always align in their changes. The irregular patterns of the phenomenon we see as the effect can often be explained by treating them as leftover phenomena and looking for exceptional causes that have temporarily masked the influence of the general cause. For example, looking back at the diagram of the Price of Tea in § 4, it’s clear that, generally, the price drops when the duty drops. However, in Mr. Denyer's more detailed diagram, from which this is drawn, we can see that in 1840, the price of [Pg 235]tea increased from 3s. 9d. to 4s. 9d. without any change in duty. This can be easily explained by the Chinese War that year, which disrupted the supply. Similarly, from 1869 to 1889, the duty stayed the same while the price of tea fell by as much as 8d. per lb.; this leftover phenomenon can be explained by the massively increased production of tea during that time in India and Ceylon.
The above examples of the method of Residues are all quantitative; but the method is often employed where exact estimates are unobtainable. Thus Darwin, having found certain modifications of animals in form, coloration and habits, that were not clearly derivable from their struggle for existence in relation to other species or to external conditions, suggested that they were due to Sexual Selection.
The above examples of the method of Residues are all quantitative; however, this method is often used when precise estimates aren’t possible. For instance, Darwin observed certain changes in animals regarding their shape, color, and behavior that didn’t clearly result from their competition with other species or from external conditions, and he proposed that these changes were a result of Sexual Selection.
The 'vestiges' and 'survivals' so common in Biology and Sociology are residuary phenomena. It is a general inference from the doctrine of Natural Selection that every organ of a plant, animal, or society is in some way useful to it. There occur, however, organs that have at present no assignable utility, are at least wasteful, and sometimes even injurious. And the explanation is that formerly they were useful; but that, their uses having lapsed, they are now retained by the force of heredity or tradition. Either they are not injurious enough to be eliminated by natural selection; or they are correlated with other organs, whose utility outweighs their disutility.
The 'vestiges' and 'survivals' found in Biology and Sociology are leftover phenomena. It's a common conclusion from the theory of Natural Selection that every part of a plant, animal, or society serves some purpose. However, there are parts that don’t serve any clear function right now, are often wasteful, and sometimes even harmful. The reason is that they used to be useful; but since their functions are no longer needed, they stick around due to heredity or tradition. Either they aren't harmful enough to be removed by natural selection, or they are linked to other parts that are more beneficial than they are harmful.
CHAPTER XVII
COMBINATION OF INDUCTION WITH DEDUCTION
§ 1. We have now reviewed Mill's five Canons of Inductive Proof. At bottom, as he observes, there are only two, namely, Agreement and Difference: since the Double Method, Variations and Residues are only special forms of the other two. Indeed, in their function of proof, they are all reducible to one, namely, Difference; for the cogency of the method of Agreement (as distinguished from a simple enumeration of instances agreeing in the coincidence of a supposed cause and its effect), depends upon the omission, in one instance after another, of all other circumstances; which omission is a point of difference.
§ 1. We have now looked over Mill's five Canons of Inductive Proof. Essentially, as he points out, there are just two: Agreement and Difference. The Double Method, Variations, and Residues are just specific versions of the other two. In fact, in their role as proof, they can all be simplified to one, which is Difference. The strength of the Agreement method (as different from merely listing cases where a supposed cause and its effect coincide) relies on leaving out, in one case after another, all other factors; that omission is a point of difference.
The Canons are an analysis of the conditions of proving directly (where possible), by means of observation or experiment, any proposition that predicates causation. But if we say 'by means of observation or experiment,' it is not to be understood that these are the only means and that nothing else is involved; for it has been shown that the Law of Causation is itself an indispensable foundation of the evidence. In fact Inductive Logic may be considered as having a purely formal character. It consists (1) in a statement of the Law of Cause and Effect; (2) in certain immediate inferences from this Law, expanded into the Canons; (3) in the syllogistic application of the Canons to special predications of causation by means of minor premises, showing that certain instances satisfy the Canons.
The Canons analyze how to prove any statement about causation directly (when possible) through observation or experimentation. However, when we say 'through observation or experiment,' we don't mean these are the only methods or that nothing else is involved; it's been shown that the Law of Causation itself is a crucial foundation for the evidence. In reality, Inductive Logic can be viewed as having a purely formal nature. It includes (1) a statement of the Law of Cause and Effect; (2) certain immediate inferences derived from this Law, which are expanded into the Canons; (3) the syllogistic application of the Canons to specific statements about causation using minor premises, demonstrating that certain cases meet the Canons.
At the risk of some pedantry, we may exhibit the process as follows (cf. Prof. Ray's Logic: Appendix D):
At the risk of sounding a bit overly detailed, we can show the process like this (cf. Prof. Ray's Logic: Appendix D):
Whatever relation of events has certain marks is a case of causation;
Whatever sequence of events has certain signs is a case of causation;
The relation A: p has some or all of these marks (as shown by observation and by the conformity of instances to such or such a Canon):
The relationship A: p has some or all of these characteristics (as demonstrated by observation and the matching of instances to this or that Canon):
Therefore, the relation A: p is a case of causation. Now, the parenthesis, "as shown by the conformity, etc.," is an adscititious member of an Epicheirema, which may be stated, as a Prosyllogism, thus:
Therefore, the relation A: p is an example of causation. Now, the parenthesis, "as shown by the conformity, etc.," is an additional part of an Epicheirema, which can be expressed as a Prosyllogism like this:
If an instance, etc. (Canon of Difference);
If an instance, etc. (Canon of Difference);
The instances
The examples
A | B | C | B | C | |
p | q | r' | q | r |
are of the kind required:
are the type needed:
Therefore, A, present where p occurs and absent where it does not occur, is an indispensable antecedent of p.
Therefore, A, present when p is present and absent when it is not, is an essential prerequisite for p.
Such is the bare Logic of Induction: so that, strictly speaking, observation or experiment is no part of the logic, but a means of applying the logic to actual, that is, not merely symbolical, propositions. The Formal Logic of Induction is essentially deductive; and it has been much questioned whether any transition from the formal to the material conditions of proof is possible. As long as we are content to illustrate the Canons with symbols, such as A and p, all goes well; but can we in any actual investigation show that the relevant facts or 'instances' correspond with those symbols?
Such is the basic Logic of Induction: so that, strictly speaking, observation or experiment isn't part of the logic itself but a way to apply the logic to real, not just symbolic, statements. The Formal Logic of Induction is mainly deductive; and there has been a lot of debate about whether it's possible to move from formal to material conditions of proof. As long as we stick to using symbols like A and p to illustrate the Canons, everything is fine; but can we actually demonstrate in a real investigation that the relevant facts or 'instances' match those symbols?
In the first place, as Dr. Venn shows, natural phenomena want the distinctness and capability of isolation that belong to symbols. Secondly, the observing whether instances conform to a Canon, must always be subject at last to the limits of our faculties. How can we ascertain exact equality, immediate sequence? The Canon of Difference, in its experimental application, is usually considered the most cogent sort of proof: yet when can the two [Pg 238]sequent instances, before and after the introduction of a certain agent, be said to differ in nothing else? Are not earth and stars always changing position; is not every molecule in the room and apparatus always oscillating? It is true that our senses are now aided by elaborate instruments; but the construction of these depends on scientific theories, which again depend on experiments.
In the first place, as Dr. Venn shows, natural phenomena require the clarity and ability to be isolated that symbols possess. Secondly, the observation of whether instances align with a standard must ultimately be limited by our own abilities. How can we determine exact equality or immediate sequence? The Canon of Difference, when applied experimentally, is usually viewed as the strongest form of evidence: yet, when can we say that the two [Pg 238]subsequent instances, before and after the introduction of a particular agent, differ in no other way? Aren't the earth and stars constantly changing position; isn't every molecule in the room and apparatus always in motion? It's true that our senses are now enhanced by advanced instruments; however, the design of these instruments depends on scientific theories, which in turn rely on experiments.
It is right to touch upon this well-known sceptical topic; but to insist much upon it is not a sign of good sense. The works of Herschel, Whewell, and Jevons should be consulted for the various methods of correcting observations, by repeating them, averaging them, verifying one experimental process by another, always refining the methods of exact measurement, multiplying the opportunities of error (that if any exist it may at last show itself), and by other devices of what may be called Material Logic or Methodology. But only direct experience and personal manipulation of scientific processes, can give a just sense of their effectiveness; and to stand by, suggesting academic doubts, is easier and more amusing.
It’s important to address this well-known skeptical topic; however, dwelling on it excessively isn’t a sign of good judgment. The works of Herschel, Whewell, and Jevons should be reviewed for various methods of correcting observations by repeating them, averaging them, verifying one experimental process against another, continually refining exact measurement methods, increasing chances of error (so that if any exist, they can finally reveal themselves), and through other strategies that can be termed Material Logic or Methodology. But only firsthand experience and hands-on engagement with scientific processes can truly provide a clear understanding of their effectiveness; it’s easier and more entertaining to stand back and voice academic doubts.
§ 2. Still, it is not so much in laws based upon direct observation or experiment, that the material validity of scientific reasoning appears, as in the cumulative evidence that arises from the co-ordination of laws within each science, and the growing harmony and coherence of all sciences. This requires a more elaborate combination of deduction with observation and experiment. During the last three hundred years many departments of science have been reduced under principles of the greatest generality, such as the Conservation of Energy, the Law of Gravitation, the Undulatory theory of Light, the Law of combining Equivalents, and the Theory of Natural Selection; connecting and explaining the less general laws, which, again, are said to connect and explain the facts. Meanwhile, those sciences that were the first to make progress have helped to develop others which, like Biology and[Pg 239] Sociology, present greater difficulties; and it becomes more and more apparent that the distinctions drawn among sciences are entirely for the convenience of study, and that all sciences tend to merge in one universal Science of Nature. Now, this process of the 'unification of knowledge' is almost another name for deduction; but at the same time it depends for its reality and solidity upon a constant reference to observation and experiment. Only a very inadequate notion of it can be given in the ensuing chapters.
§ 2. Still, the true value of scientific reasoning isn't found mainly in laws created through direct observation or experimentation, but rather in the accumulating evidence that comes from how laws within each science connect and the increasing harmony and coherence among all sciences. This requires a more complex blend of deduction with observation and experimentation. Over the past three hundred years, many areas of science have been simplified using fundamental principles, like the Conservation of Energy, the Law of Gravitation, the Undulatory Theory of Light, the Law of Combining Equivalents, and the Theory of Natural Selection; these principles connect and clarify the more specific laws that, in turn, are said to link and clarify the facts. Meanwhile, the sciences that made early advancements have helped to develop others, like Biology and Sociology, which face greater challenges. It becomes increasingly clear that the distinctions made among sciences are mainly for the sake of convenience in study and that all sciences tend to converge into one universal Science of Nature. This process of 'unifying knowledge' is essentially another term for deduction; however, its reality and firmness rely on constant reference to observation and experimentation. Only a limited understanding of it can be provided in the following chapters.
We saw in chap. xiv. § 6, that when two or more agents or forces combine to produce a phenomenon, their effects are intermixed in it, and this in one of two ways according to their nature. In chemical action and in vegetable and animal life, the causal agents concerned are blended in their results in such a way that most of the qualities which they exhibited severally are lost, whilst new qualities appear instead. Thus chlorine (a greenish-yellow gas) and sodium (a metal) unite to form common salt NaCl; which is quite unlike either of them: a man eats bread, and it becomes muscle, nerve and bone. In such cases we cannot trace the qualities of the causal agents in the qualities of the effects; given such causes, we can prove experimentally, according to the canons of induction, that they have such effects; but we may not be able in any new case to calculate what the effects will be.
We saw in chap. xiv. § 6 that when two or more agents or forces come together to create a phenomenon, their effects mix together in one of two ways, depending on their nature. In chemical reactions and in plant and animal life, the causal agents involved blend in such a way that most of the individual qualities they displayed are lost, while new qualities emerge instead. For example, chlorine (a greenish-yellow gas) and sodium (a metal) combine to form common salt (NaCl), which is very different from either of them: when a person eats bread, it turns into muscle, nerve, and bone. In these cases, we cannot identify the qualities of the causal agents in the qualities of the effects; given such causes, we can experimentally demonstrate, following the rules of induction, that they produce those effects, but we might not be able to predict what the effects will be in any new scenario.
On the other hand, in Astronomy and Physics, the causes treated of are mechanical; at least, it is the aim of Physics to attain to a mechanical conception of phenomena; so that, in every new combination of forces, the intermixed effect, or resultant, may be calculated beforehand; provided that the forces concerned admit of being quantitatively estimated, and that the conditions of their combination are not so complex as to baffle the powers of mathematicians. In such cases, when direct observation or experiment is insufficient to resolve an effect into the [Pg 240]laws of its conditions, the general method is to calculate what may be expected from a combination of its conditions, as either known or hypothetically assumed, and to compare this anticipation with the actual phenomenon.
On the flip side, in Astronomy and Physics, the causes being discussed are mechanical; in fact, the goal of Physics is to develop a mechanical understanding of phenomena. This way, in every new combination of forces, the resulting effect can be predicted in advance, as long as the forces involved can be measured quantitatively, and the conditions of their combination aren’t so complicated that they confuse mathematicians. In situations like this, when direct observation or experimentation isn’t enough to break down an effect according to its conditions, the usual approach is to calculate what can be expected from a combination of those conditions, whether they are known or hypothesized, and then compare that expectation with the actual phenomenon.
§ 3. This is what Mill calls the Direct Deductive Method; or, the Physical Method, because it is so much relied on in treating of Light, Heat, Sound, etc.; it is also the method of Astronomy and much used in Economics: Deduction leads the way, and its results are tested inductively by experiments or observations. Given any complex mechanical phenomenon, the inquirer considers—(1) what laws already ascertained seem likely to apply to it (in default of known laws, hypotheses are substituted: cf. chap. xviii.); he then—(2) computes the effect that will follow from these laws in circumstances similar to the case before him; and (3) he verifies his conclusion by comparing it with the actual phenomenon.
§ 3. This is what Mill refers to as the Direct Deductive Method, or the Physical Method, because it is heavily relied upon when discussing Light, Heat, Sound, etc.; it's also the method used in Astronomy and is common in Economics. Deduction leads the process, and its results are confirmed through experiments or observations. When faced with any complex mechanical phenomenon, the researcher considers—(1) which established laws might apply to it (if no known laws exist, hypotheses are used instead: cf. chap. xviii.); then, (2) they calculate the effect that would result from these laws under conditions similar to the case at hand; and (3) they verify their conclusion by comparing it with the actual phenomenon.
A simple example of this method is the explanation of the rise of water in the 'common pump.' We know three laws applicable to this case: (a) that the atmosphere weighs upon the water outside the pump with a pressure of 15 lb. to the square inch; (b) that a liquid (and therefore the water) transmits pressure equally in all directions (upwards as well as downwards and sideways); and (c) that pressure upon a body in any direction, if not counteracted by an opposite pressure, produces motion. Hence, when the rise of the piston of the pump removes the pressure upon the water within the cylinder, tending to produce a vacuum there, this water is pushed up by the pressure of the air upon the water outside the cylinder, and follows the rising piston, until the column of water inside the cylinder exerts a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere upon an equal area. So much for the computation; does it correspond with the fact? It is found that at the sea level water can be pumped to the height of 33 ft; and that such a column of water has a pressure of 15 lb.[Pg 241] to the square inch. We may show further that, at the sea level, spirits of wine may be pumped higher according to its less specific gravity; and that if we attempt to pump water at successive altitudes above the sea level, we can only raise it to less and less heights, corresponding with the lessened atmospheric pressure at those altitudes, where the column of air producing the pressure is shorter. Finally, if we try to work a pump, having first produced a vacuum over the water outside the cylinder, we shall find that the water inside will not rise at all; the piston can be raised, but the water does not follow it. The verification thus shows that the computed effect corresponds with the phenomenon to be explained; that the result does not depend upon the nature of water only, but is true (allowing for differences of specific gravity) of other liquids; that if the pressure of the outside air is diminished, the height of pumping is so too (canon of Variations); and that if that pressure is entirely removed, pumping becomes impossible (canon of Difference).
A straightforward example of this method is explaining how water rises in the 'common pump.' We know three laws that apply here: (a) the atmosphere exerts a pressure of 15 lb. per square inch on the water outside the pump; (b) a liquid (and thus the water) transmits pressure equally in all directions (upwards, downwards, and sideways); and (c) pressure on a body in any direction, if not balanced by an opposing pressure, creates motion. Therefore, when the piston of the pump rises, it reduces the pressure on the water inside the cylinder, creating a vacuum there. As a result, the water is pushed up by the air pressure acting on the water outside the cylinder and follows the rising piston until the water column inside the cylinder exerts a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere over an equal area. That's the calculation; does it match the reality? It turns out that at sea level, water can be pumped to a height of 33 ft, and that such a water column has a pressure of 15 lb.[Pg 241] per square inch. We can also show that at sea level, alcohol can be pumped higher because it has a lower specific gravity; and if we try to pump water at increasing altitudes above sea level, we can only raise it to lower heights, corresponding to the reduced atmospheric pressure at those elevations, where the column of air generating the pressure is shorter. Finally, if we attempt to operate a pump after creating a vacuum above the water outside the cylinder, we will find that the water inside won’t rise at all; the piston can be pulled up, but the water doesn't follow. This verification shows that the calculated effect aligns with the phenomenon we are trying to explain; that the result is not just about the nature of water but is also true (accounting for differences in specific gravity) for other liquids; that if the outside air pressure is reduced, the pumping height decreases as well (canon of Variations); and that if that pressure is completely removed, pumping becomes impossible (canon of Difference).
Any text-book of Astronomy or Physics furnishes numerous illustrations of the deductive method. Take, for example, the first chapter of Deschanel's Optics, where are given three methods of determining the velocity of Light. This was first deduced from observation of Jupiter's satellites. The one nearest the planet passes behind it, or into its shadow, and is eclipsed, at intervals of about 42½ hours. But it can be shown that, when Jupiter and the Earth are nearest together on the same side of the Sun, an eclipse of this satellite is visible from the earth 16 min. 26.6 sec. earlier than when Jupiter and the earth are furthest apart on opposite sides of the Sun: 16 min. 26.6 sec, then, is the time in which light traverses the diameter of the Earth's orbit. Therefore, supposing the Earth's distance from the Sun to be 92 millions of miles, light travels about 186,000 miles a second. Another deduction, agreeing with this, starts from the fact [Pg 242]of aberration, or the displacement of the apparent from the actual position of the stars in the direction of the earth's motion. Aberration depends partly on the velocity of light, partly on the velocity of the Earth; and the latter being known, the former can be computed. Now, these two deductive arguments, verifying each other, have also been verified experimentally. Foucault's experiment to measure the velocity of light is too elaborate to be described here: a full account of it will be found in the treatise above cited, § 687.
Any astronomy or physics textbook provides many examples of the deductive method. For instance, in the first chapter of Deschanel's Optics, three methods for calculating the speed of light are presented. This was originally determined by observing Jupiter's moons. The one closest to the planet goes behind it, into its shadow, and gets eclipsed about every 42½ hours. It can be shown that when Jupiter and Earth are closest together on the same side of the Sun, the eclipse of this moon is visible from Earth 16 minutes and 26.6 seconds earlier than when they are farthest apart on opposite sides of the Sun. Thus, 16 minutes and 26.6 seconds is the time it takes for light to cross the diameter of Earth's orbit. Therefore, assuming the Earth is 92 million miles from the Sun, light travels at about 186,000 miles per second. Another deduction that supports this starts with the fact of aberration, which is the shift of the apparent positions of stars compared to their actual positions due to Earth's motion. Aberration is influenced by both the speed of light and the speed of the Earth; since we know the latter, we can calculate the former. These two deductive arguments support each other and have also been confirmed through experiments. Foucault's experiment to measure the speed of light is too complex to detail here; you can find a complete account of it in the aforementioned treatise, § 687.
When the phenomena to be explained are of such a character, so vast in extent, power or duration, that it is impossible, in the actual circumstances of the case, to frame experiments in order to verify a deductive explanation, it may still be possible to reproduce a similar phenomenon upon a smaller scale. Thus Monge's explanation of mirage by the great heat of the desert sand, which makes the lowest stratum of air less dense than those above it, so that rays of light from distant objects are refracted in descending, until they are actually turned upwards again to the eye of the beholders, giving him inverted images of the objects as if they were reflected in water, is manifestly incapable of being verified by experiment in the natural conditions of the phenomenon. But by heating the bottom of "a sheet-iron box, with its ends cut away," the rarefied air at the bottom of the box may sometimes be made to yield reflections; and this shows at least that the supposed cause is a possible one (Deschanel, Optics, § 726). Similarly as to the vastest of all phenomena, the evolution of the stellar system, and of the solar system as part of it, from an immense cloudlike volume of matter: H. Spencer, in his Essay on The Nebular Hypothesis, says, amidst a great array of deductive arguments from mechanical principles, that "this a priori reasoning harmonises with the results of experiment. Dr. Plateau has shown that when a mass of fluid is, as far as may be, [Pg 243]protected from the action of external forces, it will, if made to rotate with adequate velocity, form detached rings; and that these rings will break up into spheroids, which turn on their axes in the same direction with the central mass." The theory of the evolution of species of plants and animals by Natural Selection, again, though, of course, it cannot be verified by direct experiment (since experiment implies artificial arrangement), and the process is too slow for observation, is, nevertheless, to some extent confirmed by the practice of gardeners and breeders of animals: since, by taking advantage of accidental variations of form and colour in the plants or animals under their care, and relying on the inheritability of these variations they obtain extensive modifications of the original stocks, and adapt them to the various purposes for which flowers and cereals, poultry, dogs and cattle are domesticated. This shows, at least, that living forms are plastic, and extensively modifiable in a comparatively short time.
When the phenomena to be explained are so vast in extent, power, or duration that it's impossible to set up experiments to verify a deductive explanation under the current conditions, it may still be possible to recreate a similar phenomenon on a smaller scale. For example, Monge's explanation of mirage involves the intense heat of desert sand, which makes the lowest layer of air less dense than the layers above it. This causes rays of light from distant objects to bend downwards until they are redirected upward to the observer’s eye, creating inverted images of the objects as if they were reflected in water. This explanation obviously can't be tested through experiments in natural conditions. However, by heating the bottom of "a sheet-iron box, with its ends cut away," the rarefied air at the bottom of the box can sometimes produce reflections. This suggests that the proposed cause is at least plausible (Deschanel, Optics, § 726). Similarly, regarding the greatest phenomenon of all—the formation of the stellar system and the solar system from a huge cloud of matter—H. Spencer, in his essay on The Nebular Hypothesis, notes that "this a priori reasoning aligns with experimental results" amid various deductive arguments based on mechanical principles. Dr. Plateau demonstrated that when a mass of fluid is largely [Pg 243]protected from external forces and rotated at sufficient speed, it will form separate rings, which will then break into spheroids that rotate on their axes in the same direction as the central mass. The theory of species evolution in plants and animals through Natural Selection, while it can't be directly tested (since experiments imply artificial setups) and the process is too slow for observation, is somewhat supported by the practices of gardeners and animal breeders. By exploiting random variations in shape and color in the plants or animals they tend, and relying on the inheritance of these variations, they achieve significant changes in the original stocks, adapting them for various purposes like flowers, cereals, poultry, dogs, and cattle. This at least shows that living forms are flexible and can be modified extensively in a relatively short time.
§ 4. Suppose, however, that, in verifying a deductive argument, the effect as computed from the laws of the causes assigned, does not correspond with the facts observed: there must then be an error somewhere. If the fact has been accurately observed, the error must lie either in the process of deduction and computation, or else in the premises. As to the process of deduction, it may be very simple and easily revised, as in the above explanation of the common pump; or it may be very involved and comprise long trains of mathematical calculation. If, however, on re-examining the computations, we find them correct, it remains to look for some mistake in the premises.
§ 4. Now, suppose that when verifying a deductive argument, the result based on the laws of the causes given doesn't match the observed facts: there must be a mistake somewhere. If the fact has been accurately observed, the mistake has to be either in the deduction and calculations or in the premises. Regarding the deduction process, it can be very straightforward and easy to check, as in the previous example of the common pump; or it can be very complex and involve extensive mathematical calculations. If, however, upon reviewing the calculations, we find them to be correct, the next step is to search for mistakes in the premises.
(1) We may not have accurately ascertained the laws, or the modes of operation, or the amounts of the forces present. Thus, the rate at which bodies fall was formerly believed to vary in proportion to their relative weights; and any estimate based upon this belief cannot agree with [Pg 244]the facts. Again, the corpuscular theory of light, namely, that the physical cause of light is a stream of fine particles projected in straight lines from the luminous object, though it seemed adequate to the explanation of many optical phenomena, could not be made to agree with the facts of interference and double refraction.
(1) We might not have correctly figured out the laws, how things work, or the strength of the forces involved. For example, it was once thought that the speed at which objects fall depended on their weights, and any calculation based on this idea wouldn't match [Pg 244]the reality. Additionally, the particle theory of light suggested that light is made up of tiny particles that travel in straight lines from a light source. While this theory seemed to explain many optical phenomena, it couldn't account for the facts of interference and double refraction.
(2) The circumstances in which the agents are combined may not have been correctly conceived. When Newton began to inquire whether the attraction of the earth determined the orbit of the moon, he was at first disappointed. "According to Newton's calculations, made at this time," says Whewell, "the moon, by her motion in her orbit, was deflected from the tangent every minute through a space of thirteen feet. But by noticing the space which bodies would fall in one minute at the earth's surface, and supposing this to be diminished in the ratio of the inverse square, it appeared that gravity would, at the moon's orbit, draw a body through more than fifteen feet." In view of this discrepancy he gave up the inquiry for sixteen years, until in 1682, having obtained better data, he successfully renewed it. "He had been mistaken in the magnitude of the earth, and consequently in the distance of the moon, which is determined by measurements of which the earth's radius is the base." It was not, therefore, a mistake as to the law or as to the nature of the forces concerned (namely, the law of the inverse square and the identity of celestial with terrestrial gravity), but as to the circumstances in which the agents (earth and moon) were combined, that prevented his calculations being verified. (Hist. Ind. Sc.: VII. ii. 3.)
(2) The conditions under which the agents were combined may not have been accurately understood. When Newton started to investigate whether the Earth's attraction influenced the moon's orbit, he was initially disappointed. "According to Newton's calculations made at this time," Whewell states, "the moon, through her orbital motion, was deflected from the tangent by thirteen feet every minute. But by observing how far objects would fall in one minute at the Earth's surface and assuming this would decrease in proportion to the inverse square, it became clear that gravity would pull an object at the moon's orbit through more than fifteen feet." Due to this discrepancy, he abandoned the inquiry for sixteen years, until in 1682, after acquiring better data, he successfully resumed it. "He had miscalculated the size of the Earth, and consequently the distance to the moon, which is based on measurements that use the Earth's radius." Thus, it was not an error regarding the law or the nature of the relevant forces (namely, the inverse square law and the similarity of celestial and terrestrial gravity), but rather the specific conditions under which the agents (Earth and moon) interacted that hindered the verification of his calculations. (Hist. Ind. Sc.: VII. ii. 3.)
(3) One or more of the agents affecting the result may have been overlooked and omitted from the estimate. Thus, an attempt to explain the tides by taking account only of the earth and the moon, will not entirely agree with the facts, since the sun also influences the tides. This illustration, however, shows that when the conclusion of [Pg 245]a deductive explanation does not entirely agree with the facts, it is not always to be inferred that the reasoning is, properly speaking, wrong; it may be right as far as it goes, and merely inadequate. Hence (a) in such cases an opportunity occurs of applying the Method of Residues, by discovering the agent that must be allowed for in order to complete the explanation. And (b) the investigation of a phenomenon is often designedly begun upon an imperfect basis for the sake of simplicity; the result being regarded as a first approximation, to be afterwards corrected by including, one by one, the remaining agents or circumstances affecting the phenomenon, until the theory is complete; that is, until its agreement with the facts is satisfactory.
(3) One or more of the factors affecting the outcome might have been overlooked and excluded from the estimate. So, trying to explain the tides by only considering the Earth and the Moon won't fully match the reality because the Sun also affects the tides. This example shows that when the conclusion of a deductive explanation doesn't fully align with the facts, it doesn't always mean the reasoning is wrong; it might be correct to a certain extent but just not complete. Therefore, (a) in such cases, there's an opportunity to use the Method of Residues by identifying the factor that needs to be included to complete the explanation. And (b) the investigation of a phenomenon is often intentionally started from an incomplete basis for simplicity; the result is seen as an initial estimate, which is then refined by gradually adding in the remaining factors or circumstances affecting the phenomenon, until the theory is comprehensive; that is, until it satisfactorily matches the facts.
(4) We may have included among the data of our reasonings agents or circumstances that do not exist or do not affect the phenomenon in question. In the early days of science purely fanciful powers were much relied upon: such as the solid spheres that carried the planets and stars; the influence of the planets upon human destiny; the tendency of everything to seek "its own place," so that fire rises to heaven, and solids fall to the earth; the "plastic virtue" of the soil, which was once thought to have produced fossils. When, however, such conceptions hindered the progress of explanation, it was not so much by vitiating the deductive method as by putting men off from exact inquiries. More to our present purpose were the supposed cataclysms, or extraordinary convulsions of the earth, a belief in which long hindered the progress of Geology. Again, in Biology, Psychology, and Sociology many explanations have depended upon the doctrine that any improvement of structure or faculty acquired by an individual may be inherited by his descendants: as that, if an animal learns to climb trees, his offspring have a greater aptitude for that mode of life; that if a man tries to be good, his children find it easier [Pg 246]to be virtuous; that if the inhabitants of a district carry on cloth-work, it becomes easier for each successive generation to acquire dexterity in that art. But now the inheritability of powers acquired by the individual through his own efforts, is disputed; and, if the denial be made good, all such explanations as the above must be revised.
(4) We might have included in our reasoning agents or circumstances that either don’t exist or don’t affect the phenomenon we’re discussing. In the early days of science, people relied heavily on purely fanciful powers, like solid spheres that carried the planets and stars, the influence of planets on human fate, and the idea that everything tends to seek “its own place,” so that fire goes up and solids fall down. There was also the belief in the "plastic virtue" of the soil, which was once thought to produce fossils. However, when these ideas obstructed the progress of understanding, it wasn’t so much that they polluted the deductive method, but rather that they diverted people from precise inquiries. More relevant to our discussion were the supposed cataclysms or extraordinary upheavals of the earth, which long hindered the advancement of Geology. Similarly, in Biology, Psychology, and Sociology, many explanations relied on the belief that any improvements in an individual’s structure or abilities could be passed down to their descendants: for instance, if an animal learns to climb trees, its offspring might be better at that; if a person tries to be good, their children may find it easier to be virtuous; and if the people in a region are engaged in cloth-making, it becomes easier for each new generation to master that skill. But now, the idea that abilities acquired through personal effort can be inherited is contested, and if this denial is substantiated, all such explanations would need to be reevaluated.
If, then, the premises of a deductive argument be vitiated in any of these four ways, its conclusion will fail to agree with the results of observation and experiment, unless, of course, one kind of error happen to be cancelled by another that is 'equal and opposite.' We now come to a variation of the method of combining Induction with Deduction, so important as to require separate treatment.
If the premises of a deductive argument are flawed in any of these four ways, its conclusion will not match the results of observation and experiment, unless, of course, one type of error happens to be canceled out by another that is 'equal and opposite.' We now turn to a variation of the method of combining Induction with Deduction, which is so important that it needs to be addressed separately.
§ 5. The Inverse or Historical Method has of late years become remarkably fruitful. When the forces determining a phenomenon are too numerous, or too indefinite, to be combined in a direct deduction, we may begin by collecting an empirical law of the phenomenon (as that 'the democracies of City-States are arbitrary and fickle'), and then endeavour to show by deductions from "the nature of the case," that is, from a consideration of the circumstances and forces known to be operative (of which, in the above instance, the most important is sympathetic contagion), that such a law was to be expected. Deduction is thus called in to verify a previous induction; whereas in the 'Physical Method' a deduction was verified by comparing it with an induction or an experiment; hence the method now to be discussed has been named the Inverse Deductive Method.
§ 5. The Inverse or Historical Method has recently become very productive. When the forces that influence a phenomenon are too numerous or vague to be merged into a direct deduction, we can start by gathering an empirical law of the phenomenon (like that 'the democracies of City-States are arbitrary and fickle'), and then try to demonstrate through deductions based on "the nature of the case," meaning from an analysis of the circumstances and forces known to be at work (of which, in this example, the most significant is sympathetic contagion), that such a law was expected. Deduction is thus used to confirm a prior induction; whereas in the 'Physical Method,' a deduction was confirmed by comparing it with an induction or an experiment; therefore, the method to be discussed is called the Inverse Deductive Method.
But although it is true that, in such inquiries as we are now dealing with, induction generally takes the lead; yet I cannot think that the mere order in which the two logical processes occur is the essential distinction between the two ways of combining them. For, in the first place, in investigations of any complexity both induction and deduction recur again and again in whatever order may [Pg 247]be most convenient; and, in the second place, the so-called 'inverse order' is sometimes resorted to in Astronomy and Physics. For example, Kepler's Laws were first collected empirically from observations of the planetary motions, and afterwards deduced by Newton from the Law of Gravitation; this, then, was the Inverse Method; but the result is something very different from any that can be obtained by the Historical Method. The essential difference between the Physical and Historical Methods is that, in the former, whether Direct or Inverse, the deductive process, when complete, amounts to exact demonstration; whereas, in the latter, the deductions may consist of qualitative reasonings, and the results are indefinite. They establish—(1) a merely probable connection between the phenomena according to an empirical law (say, between City-democracy and fickle politics); (2) connect this with other historical or social generalisations, by showing that they all alike flow from the same causes, namely, from the nature of races of men under certain social and geographical conditions; and (3) explain why such empirical laws may fail, according to the differences that prevail among races of men and among the conditions under which they live. Thus, seeing how rapidly excitement is propagated by the chatter, grimacing, and gesticulation of townsmen, it is probable enough that the democracy of a City-state should be fickle (and arbitrary, because irresponsible). A similar phenomenon of panic, sympathetic hope and despair, is exhibited by every stock-exchange, and is not peculiar to political life. And when political opinion is not manufactured solely in the reverberating furnace of a city, fickleness ceases to characterise democracy; and, in fact, is not found in Switzerland, or the United States, nor in France so far as politics, depend upon the peasantry.
But while it’s true that in the inquiries we’re looking at, induction usually takes the lead, I don’t think the order in which these two logical processes happen is the key difference between the two ways of combining them. First, in any complex investigation, both induction and deduction come up repeatedly, regardless of which order is most convenient. Second, the so-called "inverse order" is sometimes used in Astronomy and Physics. For instance, Kepler's Laws were initially gathered from observations of planetary motions and later deduced by Newton from the Law of Gravitation; this was the Inverse Method, but the outcome is quite different from what you would get through the Historical Method. The main distinction between the Physical and Historical Methods is that, in the former, whether Direct or Inverse, the deductive process, when complete, results in exact demonstration; whereas in the latter, deductions may consist of qualitative reasoning, and the results are indefinite. They establish: (1) a potentially probable connection between phenomena according to an empirical law (like the link between City-democracy and unpredictable politics); (2) show how this connects to other historical or social generalizations by indicating that they all stem from the same causes, namely, the nature of human races under certain social and geographical conditions; and (3) explain why these empirical laws might fail due to the differences among races and the conditions in which they live. Therefore, observing how quickly excitement spreads through the chatter, gestures, and antics of townspeople, it seems likely that the democracy of a City-state would be unpredictable (and arbitrary, since it’s irresponsible). A similar phenomenon of panic, shared hope, and despair can be seen in every stock exchange, which is not unique to political life. When political opinion isn’t shaped solely in the echo chamber of a city, unpredictability stops being a feature of democracy; in fact, it’s not present in Switzerland or the United States, nor in France as long as politics are influenced by the peasantry.
This is called the Historical Method, then, because it is especially useful in explaining the movements of history, [Pg 248]and in verifying the generalisations of political and social science. We must not, however, suppose that its use is confined to such studies. Only a ridiculous pedantry would allot to each subject its own method and forbid the use of any other; as if it were not our capital object to establish truth by any means. Wherever the forces determining a phenomenon are too numerous or too indefinite to be combined in a deductive demonstration, there the Historical Method is likely to be useful; and this seems often to be the case in Geology and Biology, as well as in the Science of History, or Sociology, and its various subsidiary studies.
This is called the Historical Method because it is especially helpful in explaining historical movements, [Pg 248]and in validating the generalizations of political and social science. However, we shouldn’t assume that its use is limited to these areas. It would be foolishly pedantic to assign a specific method to each subject and prohibit the use of others, as if our main goal wasn't to establish the truth by any means possible. Whenever the forces influencing a phenomenon are too many or too vague to be combined into a deductive demonstration, the Historical Method is likely to be useful; and this often applies to Geology and Biology, as well as the Science of History, or Sociology, and its various related studies.
Consider upon what causes historical events depend: the customs, character, and opinions of all the people concerned; the organisation of their government, and the character of their religious institutions; the development of industry among them, of the military art, of fine art, literature and science; their relations, commercial, political and social, with other nations; the physical conditions of climate and geographical position amidst which they live. Hardly an event of importance occurs in any nation that is not, directly or indirectly, influenced by every one of these circumstances, and that does not react upon them. Now, from the nature of the Canons of direct Induction, a satisfactory employment of them in such a complex and tangled situation as history presents, is rarely possible; for they all require the actual or virtual isolation of the phenomenon under investigation. They also require the greatest attainable immediacy of connection between cause and effect; whereas the causes of social events may accumulate during hundreds of years. In collecting empirical laws from history, therefore, only very rough inductions can be hoped for, and we may have to be content with simple enumeration. Hence the importance of supporting such laws by deduction from the nature of the case, however faint a probability of the [Pg 249]asserted connection is thereby raised; and this even if each law is valued merely for its own sake. Still more, if anything worth the name of Historical Science is to be constructed, must a mere collection of such empiricisms fail to content us; and the only way to give them a scientific character is to show deductively their common dependence upon various combinations of the same causes. Yet even those who profess to employ the Historical Method often omit the deductive half of it; and of course 'practical politicians' boast of their entire contentment with what they call 'the facts.'
Consider what factors influence historical events: the customs, character, and opinions of all the people involved; how their government is organized and the nature of their religious institutions; the development of industries, military skills, fine arts, literature, and science among them; their commercial, political, and social relationships with other nations; and the physical conditions of climate and geography where they live. Almost every significant event in any nation is, directly or indirectly, affected by all these factors and also impacts them in return. The nature of the Canons of direct Induction makes it difficult to apply them effectively in the complex and tangled situation that history presents, as they require the actual or virtual isolation of the phenomenon being studied. They also demand the closest possible connection between cause and effect, even though the causes of social events can build up over hundreds of years. Therefore, when collecting empirical laws from history, we can only expect very rough inductions, and we may have to settle for simple listings. Thus, it's crucial to support such laws with deductions based on the nature of the case, no matter how weak the probability of the asserted connection may be; and this holds true even if each law is valued simply for itself. Moreover, if we aim to build something worthy of being called Historical Science, we cannot be satisfied merely with a collection of such empiricisms; the only way to give them a scientific nature is to demonstrate deductively their shared dependence on various combinations of the same causes. Yet, even those who claim to follow the Historical Method often skip the deductive part; and naturally, 'practical politicians' take pride in their complete satisfaction with what they refer to as 'the facts.'
Sometimes, however, politicians, venturing upon deductive reasoning, have fallen into the opposite error of omitting to test their results by any comparison with the facts: arguing from certain 'Rights of Man,' or 'Interests of Classes,' or 'Laws of Supply and Demand,' that this or that event will happen, or ought to happen, without troubling themselves to observe whether it does happen or ever has happened. This method of Deduction without any empirical verification, is called by Mill the Geometrical; and, plainly, it can be trustworthy only where there is no actual conflict of forces to be considered. In pure mathematical reasoning about space, time, and number, provided the premises and the reasoning be correct, verification by a comparison with the facts may be needless, because there is no possibility of counteraction. But when we deal with actual causes, no computation of their effects can be relied upon without comparing our conclusions with the facts: not even in Astronomy and Physics, least of all in Politics.
Sometimes, however, politicians, when using deductive reasoning, make the mistake of failing to check their conclusions against the facts. They argue based on certain 'Rights of Man,' 'Interests of Classes,' or 'Laws of Supply and Demand,' asserting that certain events will occur or should occur without bothering to see if they actually do occur or have ever occurred. This method of deduction without empirical verification is referred to by Mill as the Geometrical approach; and clearly, it can only be reliable where there is no real conflict of forces to consider. In purely mathematical reasoning about space, time, and numbers, as long as the premises and logic are correct, verification against the facts may not be necessary because there’s no chance of counteraction. But when we are dealing with real causes, no calculation of their effects can be trusted without checking our conclusions against the facts: not even in Astronomy and Physics, and especially not in Politics.
Burke, then, has well said that "without the guide and light of sound, well-understood principles all our reasoning in politics, as in everything else, would be only a confused jumble of particular facts and details without the means of drawing any sort of theoretical or practical conclusion"; but that, on the other hand, the statesman, who [Pg 250]does not take account of circumstances, infinite and infinitely combined, "is not erroneous, but stark mad—he is metaphysically mad" (On the Petition of the Unitarians). There is, or ought to be, no logical difference between the evidence required by a statesman and that appealed to by a philosopher; and since, as we have seen, the combination of principles with circumstances cannot, in solving problems of social science, be made with the demonstrative precision that belongs to astronomical and physical investigations, there remains the Historical Method as above described.
Burke rightly stated that "without the guide and light of sound, well-understood principles, all our reasoning in politics, like in everything else, would just be a confusing mix of specific facts and details without the ability to draw any theoretical or practical conclusions"; however, on the other hand, a statesman who doesn't consider the countless circumstances and their combinations "is not just mistaken, but completely insane—he is metaphysically mad" (On the Petition of the Unitarians). There shouldn't be any logical difference between the evidence needed by a statesman and that used by a philosopher; and since, as we've seen, combining principles with circumstances to solve social science problems can't achieve the demonstrative precision found in astronomical and physical studies, we're left with the Historical Method as described above.
Examples of the empirical laws from which this method begins abound in histories, newspapers, and political discussions, and are of all shades of truth or half-truth: as that 'History consists in the biographies of great men'; in other words, that the movements of society are due to exceptional personal powers, not to general causes; That at certain epochs great men occur in groups; That every Fine Art passes through periods of development, culmination and decline; That Democracies tend to change into Despotisms; That the possession of power, whether by classes or despots, corrupts the possessor: That 'the governments most distinguished for sustained vigour and abilities have generally been aristocracies'; That 'revolutions always begin in hunger'; That civilisation is inimical to individuality; That the civilisation of the country proceeds from the town; That 'the movement of progressive societies has hitherto been a movement from Status to Contract (i.e., from a condition in which the individual's rights and duties depend on his caste, or position in his family as slave, child, or patriarch, to a condition in which his rights and duties are largely determined by the voluntary agreements he enters into)'; and this last is treated by H. Spencer as one aspect of the law first stated by Comte, that the progress of societies is from the military to the industrial state.
Examples of the empirical laws that this method starts with are plentiful in histories, newspapers, and political discussions, and they range from completely true to half-true: for instance, 'History is made up of the biographies of great individuals'; in other words, the actions of society are the result of exceptional personal abilities rather than general causes. There are times when great individuals appear in groups. Every fine art goes through stages of development, peak, and decline. Democracies tend to evolve into despotisms. Holding power, whether by classes or tyrants, corrupts those in power: 'the governments best known for their sustained energy and skill have typically been aristocracies.' 'Revolutions always start with hunger.' 'Civilization is against individuality.' 'The civilization of a nation emerges from its cities.' 'The movement of progressive societies has so far been a shift from Status to Contract (i.e., moving from a situation where an individual’s rights and responsibilities depend on their caste or family position as slave, child, or patriarch to a situation where their rights and responsibilities largely arise from the voluntary agreements they make).'; and this last point is discussed by H. Spencer as one aspect of the law first proposed by Comte, which states that the progress of societies moves from military to industrial states.
The deductive process we may illustrate by Spencer's explanation of the co-existence in the military state of those specific characters, the inductive proof of which furnished an illustration of the method of Agreement (ch. xvi. § 1). The type of the military State involves the growth of the warrior class, and the treatment of labourers as existing solely to support the warriors; the complete subordination of all individuals to the will of the despotic soldier-king, their property, liberty and life being at the service of the State; the regimentation of society, not only for military, but also for civil purposes; the suppression of all private associations, etc. Now all these characteristics arise from their utility for the purpose of war, a utility amounting to necessity if war is the State's chief purpose. For every purpose is best served when the whole available force co-operates toward it: other things equal, the bigger the army the better; and to increase it, men must be taken from industry, until only just enough remain to feed and equip the soldiers. As this arrangement is not to everybody's taste, there must be despotic control; and this control is most effective through regimentation by grades of command. Private associations, of course, cannot live openly in such a State, because they may have wills of their own and are convenient for conspiracy. Thus the induction of characteristics is verified by a deduction of them from the nature of the case.
The deductive process can be illustrated by Spencer's explanation of how certain specific traits coexist in a military state, with the inductive proof providing an example of the method of Agreement (ch. xvi. § 1). The military state is characterized by the rise of the warrior class, where laborers are seen as existing solely to support the warriors; it requires complete submission of all individuals to the will of the authoritarian soldier-king, with their property, freedom, and lives at the service of the State; it enforces the organization of society not just for military purposes but also for civil ones; and it suppresses all private associations, etc. All these characteristics arise from their usefulness for warfare, which becomes a necessity if war is the primary focus of the State. Every objective is best achieved when the entire available force works together: all else being equal, a larger army is preferable, and to achieve this, men need to be pulled from productive work until only just enough remain to sustain and equip the soldiers. Since this arrangement isn't appealing to everyone, despotic control is necessary; this control is most effective through a structured hierarchy of command. Naturally, private associations cannot exist openly in such a state because they may have their own agendas and are convenient for plotting against the regime. Thus, the induction of these characteristics is confirmed by deducing them from the nature of the situation.
§ 6. The greater indefiniteness of the Historical compared with the Physical Method, both in its inductions and in its deductions, makes it even more difficult to work with. It wants much sagacity and more impartiality; for the demon of Party is too much with us. Our first care should be to make the empirical law as nearly true as possible, collecting as many as we can of the facts which the law is supposed to generalise, and examining them according to the canons of Induction, with due allowance [Pg 252]for the imperfect applicability of those canons to such complex, unwieldy, and indefinite instances. In the examples of such laws given above, it is clear that in some cases no pains have been taken to examine the facts. What is the inductive evidence that Democracies change into Despotisms; that revolutions always begin in hunger; or that civilisation is inimical to individuality? Even Mill's often quoted saying, "that the governments remarkable in history for sustained vigour and ability have generally been aristocracies," is oddly over-stated. For if you turn to the passage (Rep. Gov. chap. vi.), the next sentence tells you that such governments have always been aristocracies of public functionaries; and the next sentence but one restricts, apparently, the list of such remarkable governments to two—Rome and Venice. Whence, then, comes the word "generally" into Mill's law?
§ 6. The greater uncertainty of the Historical Method compared to the Physical Method, both in its conclusions and its assumptions, makes it even harder to work with. It requires a lot of insight and greater objectivity because the influence of partisanship is too strong. Our first priority should be to make the empirical law as accurate as possible, gathering as many relevant facts that the law is supposed to generalize and analyzing them according to the rules of Induction, while being mindful [Pg 252]of the limited applicability of those rules to such complex, cumbersome, and ambiguous cases. In the examples of such laws mentioned earlier, it's clear that in some instances, little effort has been made to investigate the facts. What is the inductive evidence that Democracies turn into Despotisms; that revolutions always start due to hunger; or that civilization is against individuality? Even Mill's frequently quoted observation that "governments noted in history for their sustained strength and effectiveness have generally been aristocracies" is strangely exaggerated. If you look at the passage (Rep. Gov. chap. vi.), the very next sentence points out that such governments have always been aristocracies of public officials; and the following sentence seems to limit the list of these notable governments to just two—Rome and Venice. So, where does the word "generally" fit into Mill's claim?
As to deducing our empirical law from a consideration of the nature of the case, it is obvious that we ought—(a) to take account of all the important conditions; (b) to allow weight to them severally in proportion to their importance; and (c) not to include in our estimates any condition which we cannot show to be probably present and operative. Thus the Great-Man-Theory of history must surely be admitted to assign a real condition of national success. The great man organises, directs, inspires: is that nothing? On the other hand, to recognise no other condition of national success is the manifest frenzy of a mind in the mythopœic age. We must allow the great man his due weight, and then inquire into the general conditions that (a) bring him to birth in one nation rather than another, and (b) give him his opportunity.
When it comes to deriving our empirical law from examining the nature of the case, it's clear that we should—(a) consider all the important factors; (b) weigh them individually based on their significance; and (c) avoid including any factors that we cannot reasonably show are likely to be present and influential. Therefore, the Great-Man Theory of history definitely deserves recognition as a real factor in a nation’s success. The great person organizes, leads, and inspires—does that count for nothing? However, to ignore any other factors contributing to national success is clearly the misguided thinking of someone stuck in a myth-making mindset. We need to give the great person their proper importance and then explore the broader conditions that (a) lead to their emergence in one nation over another, and (b) provide them with opportunities.
Mill's explanation of the success of the aristocratic governments of Rome and Venice is, that they were, in fact, bureaucracies; that is to say, their members were [Pg 253]trained in the science and art of administration and command. Here, again, we have, no doubt, a real condition; but is it the only one? The popular mind, which little relishes the scaling down of Mill's original law to those two remote cases, is persuaded that an aristocracy is the depository of hereditary virtue, especially with reference to government, and would at once ascribe to this circumstance the greater part of the success of any aristocratic constitution. Now, if the effects of training are inherited, they must, in an hereditary aristocracy, increase the energy of the cause assigned by Mill; but, if not, such heredity is a condition "not present or not operative." Still, if families are ennobled for their extraordinary natural powers of administration or command (as sometimes happens), it is agreed on all hands that innate qualities are inheritable; at least, if care be taken to intermarry with families similarly distinguished, and if by natural or artificial selection all the failures among the offspring be eliminated. The Spartans had some crude notion of both these precautions; and if such measures had been widely adopted, we might deduce from the doctrine of heredity a probability in favour of Mill's original proposition, and thereby verify it in its generality, if it could be collected from the facts.
Mill explains the success of the aristocratic governments in Rome and Venice by saying they were actually bureaucracies; in other words, their members were [Pg 253]trained in the skills of administration and leadership. Again, this is certainly a real factor, but is it the only one? The general public, which isn’t keen on reducing Mill's original theory to just these two distant examples, believes that an aristocracy holds hereditary virtue, especially regarding governance, and would largely attribute the success of any aristocratic system to this fact. If the benefits of training are inherited, they would, in an hereditary aristocracy, amplify the effectiveness of the reason Mill provided; however, if they are not, such heredity would be a condition "not present or not operative." Still, if families are elevated for their exceptional natural abilities in administration or leadership (which sometimes occurs), it’s widely agreed that innate traits can be inherited—at least if care is taken to marry within similarly distinguished families and to eliminate any unsuccessful outcomes among the offspring through natural or artificial selection. The Spartans had some basic understanding of these precautions; if such methods had been broadly implemented, we might find evidence from heredity supporting Mill’s original argument and thus confirm its general validity, if it can be supported by actual facts.
The Historical Method may be further illustrated by the course adopted in that branch of Social Science which has been found susceptible of the most extensive independent development, namely, Economics. First, by way of contrast, I should say that the abstract, or theoretical treatment of Economics follows the Physical Method; because, as Mill explains, although the phenomena of industry are no doubt influenced, like other social affairs, by all the other circumstances of Society, government, religion, war, art, etc.; yet, where industry is most developed, as in England and the United States, certain special conditions affecting it are so much the most important that, for the [Pg 254]purpose at least of a first outline of the science, they may conveniently be considered as the only ones. These conditions are: (1) the general disposition of men to obtain wealth with as little trouble as possible, and (2) to spend it so as to obtain the greatest satisfaction of their various desires; (3) the facts that determine population; and (4) the tendency of extractive industry, when pushed beyond a certain limit without any improvement in the industrial arts, to yield "diminishing returns." From these premises it is easy to infer the general laws of prices, of wages and interest (which are the prices of labour and of the use of capital), and of rent; and it remains to verify these laws by comparing them with the facts in each case; and (if they fail to agree with the facts) to amend them, according to the Method of Residues, by taking account of those influential conditions which were omitted from the first draft of the theory.
The Historical Method can be better understood through how it’s applied in the area of Social Science that has developed the most independently, which is Economics. To start, in contrast, I want to point out that the abstract or theoretical approach to Economics uses the Physical Method. As Mill explains, even though the factors influencing industry are certainly affected, like any other social matters, by all the other aspects of society—government, religion, war, art, etc.—in places where industry is highly developed, such as in England and the United States, some specific conditions are so crucial that, for the purpose of creating a basic outline of the science, they can conveniently be treated as the only relevant factors. These conditions are: (1) the general tendency of people to acquire wealth with minimal effort, (2) to spend it in a way that maximizes satisfaction of their various desires, (3) the factors that determine population, and (4) the tendency of extractive industries, when pushed beyond a certain limit without advancements in industrial practices, to produce "diminishing returns." From these points, it’s straightforward to deduce the general laws of prices, wages, and interest (which refers to the prices of labor and the use of capital), as well as rent; and it's necessary to validate these laws by comparing them to the real-world facts in each situation; and if they don’t align with the facts, to adjust them as needed using the Method of Residues, by taking into account those significant conditions that were left out in the initial version of the theory.
Whilst, however, this is usually the procedure of those inquirers who have done most to give Economics its scientific character, to insist that no other plan shall be adopted would be sheer pedantry; and Dr. Keynes has shown, in his Scope and Method of Political Economy, that Mill has himself sometimes solved economic problems by the Historical Method. With an analysis of his treatment of Peasant Proprietorship (Political Economy, B. II., cc. 7 and 8) we may close this section. Mill first shows inductively, by collecting evidence from Switzerland, Germany, Norway, Belgium, and France (countries differing in race, government, climate and situation), that peasant proprietors are superhumanly industrious; intelligent cultivators, and generally intelligent men; prudent, temperate, and independent, and that they exercise self-control in avoiding improvident marriages. This group of empirical generalisations as to the character of peasant proprietors he then deduces from the nature of the case: their industry, he says, is a natural consequence of the fact that, [Pg 255]however much they produce, it is all their own; they cultivate intelligently, because for generations they have given their whole mind to it; they are generally intelligent men, because the variety of work involved in small farming, requiring foresight and calculation, necessarily promotes intelligence; they are prudent, because they have something to save, and by saving can improve their station and perhaps buy more land; they are temperate, because intemperance is incompatible with industry and prudence; they are independent, because secure of the necessaries of life, and from having property to fall back upon; and they avoid improvidence in marriage, because the extent and fertility of their fields is always plainly before them, and therefore how many children they can maintain is easily calculated. The worst of them is that they work too hard and deny themselves too much: but, over the greater part of the world, other peasantry work too hard; though they can scarcely be said to deny themselves too much; since all their labour for others brings them no surplus to squander upon self-indulgence.
While this is usually the approach of those researchers who have done the most to give Economics its scientific standing, insisting that no other method should be used would just be pretentious; and Dr. Keynes has demonstrated, in his Scope and Method of Political Economy, that Mill has occasionally solved economic problems using the Historical Method. By analyzing his discussion of Peasant Proprietorship (Political Economy, B. II., cc. 7 and 8), we can conclude this section. Mill first shows inductively, by gathering evidence from Switzerland, Germany, Norway, Belgium, and France (countries that vary in race, government, climate, and location), that peasant proprietors are extraordinarily hardworking; they are skilled farmers and generally intelligent individuals; they are cautious, moderate, and independent, and they practice self-control by avoiding careless marriages. He then infers from the situation that these empirical observations about the characteristics of peasant proprietors arise naturally: their hard work, he notes, is a direct result of the fact that, [Pg 255]no matter how much they produce, it’s all theirs; they farm wisely because they have invested their full attention in it for generations; they are typically smart individuals because the varied tasks involved in small farming, requiring foresight and planning, naturally enhance intelligence; they are careful because they have something to save, which allows them to improve their circumstances or possibly buy more land; they are moderate since excess is incompatible with hard work and prudence; they are independent because they are secure in their basic needs and have property to rely on; and they are cautious about marriage, as the extent and productivity of their land is always clear to them, making it easy to figure out how many children they can support. The downside is that they often work too hard and sacrifice too much: however, in most parts of the world, other peasant groups also work excessively; although they can't really be said to overindulge, since their labor for others leaves them with no surplus to waste on self-gratification.
§ 7. The foregoing account of the Historical Method is based upon Mill's discussions in B. VI. of his Logic, especially cc. 6 to 11. Mill ascribes to Comte the first clear statement of the method; and it is highly scientific, and important in generalising the connections of historical events. But perhaps the expression, 'Historical Method,' is more frequently applied to the Comparative Method, as used in investigating the history of institutions or the true sense of legends.
§ 7. The previous explanation of the Historical Method comes from Mill's discussions in B. VI. of his Logic, particularly chapters 6 to 11. Mill credits Comte with the first clear explanation of the method, which is very scientific and crucial for understanding the connections between historical events. However, the term 'Historical Method' is often more commonly associated with the Comparative Method, which is used to explore the history of institutions or the true meaning of legends.
(1) Suppose we are trying to explain the institution of capital punishment as it now exists in England. (1) We must try to trace the history of it back to the earliest times; for social custom and tradition is one line of causation. At present the punishment of death is legally incident only to murder and high treason. But early in the last century malefactors were hung for forgery, sheep-[Pg 256]stealing, arson and a long list of other offences down to pocket-picking: earlier still the list included witchcraft and heresy. At present hanging is the only mode of putting a malefactor to death; but formerly the ways of putting to death included also burning, boiling, pressing, beheading, and mixed modes. Before the Restoration, however, the offences punishable with death were far fewer than they afterwards became; and until the twelfth century, the penalty of death might be avoided by paying compensation, the wer-geld.
(1) Let’s say we’re trying to explain the death penalty as it currently exists in England. (1) We need to trace its history back to ancient times because social custom and tradition is one line of causation. Right now, the death penalty is legally applicable only to murder and high treason. However, earlier in the last century, people were hanged for forgery, sheep-stealing, arson, and a long list of other crimes, including pickpocketing; even earlier, the list included witchcraft and heresy. Nowadays, hanging is the only method of execution, but in the past, there were also other ways to execute someone, including burning, boiling, pressing, beheading, and mixed methods. Before the Restoration, the crimes punishable by death were much fewer than they later became; and until the twelfth century, the death penalty could be avoided by paying compensation, known as the wer-geld.
(2) Every change in the history of an institution must be explained by pointing to the special causes in operation during the time when the change was in progress. Thus the restriction of the death penalty, in the nineteenth century, to so few offences was due partly to the growth of humane feelings, partly to the belief that the infliction, or threat, of the extreme penalty had failed to enforce the law and had demoralised the administration of Justice. The continual extension of the death penalty throughout the eighteenth century may be attributed to a belief that it was the most effectual means of deterring evil-doers when the means of detecting and apprehending criminals were feeble and ill-organised. The various old brutal ways of execution were adopted sometimes to strike terror, sometimes for vengeance, sometimes from horror of the crime, or even from 'conscientious scruples';—which last were the excuse for preferring the burning of heretics to any sort of bloodshed.
(2) Every change in the history of an institution needs to be explained by pointing to the special causes that were at play during the time the change occurred. For instance, the limitation of the death penalty in the nineteenth century to so few offenses was partly due to the rise of humane sentiments and partly because people believed that applying or threatening the ultimate punishment had not effectively enforced the law and had actually harmed the administration of justice. The ongoing expansion of the death penalty throughout the eighteenth century can be linked to the belief that it was the most effective way to deter wrongdoers when the means of detecting and catching criminals were weak and poorly organized. The various harsh methods of execution were sometimes used to instill fear, sometimes for revenge, sometimes out of disgust for the crime, or even due to 'conscientious scruples';—the last being the reason given for choosing to burn heretics instead of resorting to any form of bloodshed.
(3) The causes of any change in the history of an institution in any country may not be directly discoverable: they must then be investigated by the Comparative Method. Again, the recorded history of a nation, and of all its institutions, followed backwards, comes at last to an end: then the antecedent history must also be supplied by the Comparative Method; whose special use is to indicate the existence of facts for which there is no direct evidence.
(3) The reasons behind any changes in the history of an institution in any country may not be immediately obvious: they need to be examined using the Comparative Method. Furthermore, the documented history of a nation and all its institutions, when traced back, eventually reaches a point where it stops: at that point, the earlier history also has to be provided by the Comparative Method, which is specifically used to show the existence of facts that don't have direct evidence.
This method rests upon the principle that where the causes are alike the effects will be alike, and that similar effects are traceable to similar causes. Every department of study—Astronomy, Chemistry, Zoology, Sociology—is determined by the fact that the phenomena it investigates have certain common characteristics; and we are apt to infer that any process observed in some of these phenomena, if depending on those common characteristics, will be found in others. For example, the decomposition, or radio-activity, of certain elements prepares one to believe that all elements may exhibit it. Where the properties of an object are known to be closely interdependent, as in the organisation of plants, animals and societies, we are especially justified in inferring from one case to another. The whole animal Kingdom has certain common characters—the metabolic process, dependence upon oxygen, upon vegetable food (ultimately), heredity, etc., and, upon this ground, any process (say, the differentiation of species by Natural Selection) that has been established for some kinds of animal is readily extended to others. If instead of the whole animal Kingdom we take some district of it—Class, Order, Family—our confidence in such inferences increases; because the common characters are more numerous and the conditions of life are more alike; or, in other words, the common causes are more numerous that initiate and control the development of nearly allied animals. For such reasons a few fragmentary remains of an extinct animal enable the palæontologist to reconstruct with some probability an outline of its appearance, organisation, food, habitat and habits.
This method is based on the idea that similar causes will lead to similar effects, and that like effects come from like causes. Every field of study—Astronomy, Chemistry, Zoology, Sociology—is influenced by the fact that the phenomena it examines share certain common traits. We tend to assume that any process observed in some of these phenomena, if linked to those shared traits, will also be found in others. For instance, the decomposition or radioactivity of certain elements leads us to believe that all elements could show this. When the properties of an object are known to be closely connected, like in the organization of plants, animals, and societies, we can confidently infer from one case to another. The entire animal kingdom has certain shared traits—the metabolic processes, dependence on oxygen, reliance on plant food (ultimately), heredity, and so on. Because of this, any process (like the differentiation of species through Natural Selection) that has been proven for some types of animals can easily be applied to others. If we focus on a specific section of the animal kingdom—like a Class, Order, or Family—our confidence in these inferences grows, since there are more shared traits and the living conditions are more similar; in other words, there are more common causes that start and shape the development of closely related animals. For these reasons, a few fragmented remains of an extinct animal allow paleontologists to fairly accurately reconstruct its appearance, structure, diet, habitat, and behavior.
Applied to History, the Comparative Method rests upon an assumption (which the known facts of (say) 6,000 years amply justify) that human nature, after attaining a recognisable type as homo sapiens, is approximately uniform in all countries and in all ages, though more especially where states of culture are similar. Men living in society [Pg 258]are actuated by similar motives and reasons in similar ways; they are all dependent upon the supply of food and therefore on the sun and the seasons and the weather and upon means of making fire, and so on. Accordingly, they entertain similar beliefs, and develop similar institutions through similar series of changes. Hence, if in one nation some institution has been altered for reasons that we cannot directly discover, whereas we know the reasons why a similar change was adopted elsewhere, we may conjecture with more or less probability, after making allowance for differences in other circumstances, that the motives or causes in the former case were similar to those in the latter, or in any cases that are better known. Or, again, if in one nation we cannot trace an institution beyond a certain point, but can show that elsewhere a similar institution has had such or such an antecedent history, we may venture to reconstruct with more or less probability the earlier history of that institution in the nation we are studying.
Applied to history, the comparative method is based on the assumption (which the known facts from around 6,000 years justify) that human nature, once it reached a recognizable form as homo sapiens, is generally the same across all countries and throughout history, especially where cultures are similar. People living in societies are driven by similar motives and reasons in similar ways; they all rely on food supply and therefore on the sun, seasons, weather, and means of making fire, among other things. As a result, they hold similar beliefs and develop similar institutions through comparable changes. Thus, if in one nation an institution has changed for reasons that are not immediately clear, while we understand the reasons for a similar change in another place, we can reasonably speculate, accounting for differences in circumstances, that the motives or causes in the first case were similar to those in the second or in more well-documented cases. Similarly, if in one nation we can't trace the history of an institution beyond a certain point, but can show that a similar institution elsewhere has a specific historical background, we can tentatively reconstruct the earlier history of that institution in the nation we are examining.
Amongst the English and Saxon tribes that settled in Britain, death was the penalty for murder, and the criminal was delivered to the next-of-kin of his victim for execution; he might, however, compound for his crime by paying a certain compensation. Studying the history of other tribes in various parts of the world, we are able, with much probability, to reconstruct the antecedents of this death-penalty in our own prehistoric ages, and to trace it to the blood-feud; that is, to a tribal condition in which the next-of-kin of a murdered man was socially and religiously bound to avenge him by slaying the murderer or one of his kindred. This duty of revenge is sometimes (and perhaps was at first everywhere) regarded as necessary to appease the ghost of the victim; sometimes as necessary to compensate the surviving members of his family. In the latter case, it is open to them to accept compensation in money or cattle, etc. Whether [Pg 259]the kin will be ready to accept compensation must depend upon the value they set upon wealth in comparison with revenge; but for the sake of order and tribal strength, it is the interest of the tribe, or its elders, or chieftain, to encourage or even to enforce such acceptance. It is also their interest to take the questions—whether a crime has been committed, by whom, and what compensation is due—out of the hands of the injured party, and to submit them to some sort of court or judicial authority. At first, following ancient custom as much as possible, the act of requital, or the choice of accepting compensation, is left to the next-of-kin; but with the growth of central power these things are entrusted to ministers of the Government. Then revenge has undergone its full transformation into punishment. Very likely the wrong itself will come to be treated as having been done not to the kindred of the murdered man, but to the State or the King, as in fact a "breach of the King's peace." This happened in our own history.
Among the English and Saxon tribes that settled in Britain, murder was punishable by death, and the criminal was handed over to the victim's next-of-kin for execution; however, he could avoid this fate by paying a certain compensation. By studying the history of other tribes around the world, we can likely piece together the origins of this death penalty from our prehistoric times, tracing it back to the blood feud. This refers to a tribal situation where the next-of-kin of a murdered person was socially and religiously required to avenge him by killing the murderer or a member of his family. This duty of revenge is sometimes seen (and perhaps was universally acknowledged at first) as essential to appease the victim's ghost; at other times, it's viewed as necessary to provide compensation for the victim's surviving family members. In this case, they could choose to accept compensation in money or cattle, etc. Whether [Pg 259]the family accepts compensation depends on how they value wealth in comparison to revenge; but to maintain order and tribal strength, it is in the best interest of the tribe, or its leaders, to encourage or even force such acceptance. It is also in their interest to take on the questions—whether a crime has occurred, who committed it, and what compensation is owed—removing these matters from the hands of the injured party and placing them before some form of court or judicial authority. Initially, adhering as closely as possible to ancient customs, the act of retribution or the option to accept compensation is left to the next-of-kin. However, as central authority grew, these matters became the responsibility of government officials. Eventually, revenge transformed completely into punishment. Likely, the wrongdoing itself came to be seen as being done not just to the family of the murdered person, but to the State or the King, effectively treated as a "breach of the King's peace." This progression occurred in our own history.
(4) The Comparative Method assumes that human nature is approximately the same in different countries and ages; but, of course, 'approximately' is an important word. Although there is often a striking and significant resemblance between the beliefs and institutions of widely separated peoples, we expect to draw the most instructive parallels between those who are nearly related by descent, or neighbourhood, or culture. To shed light upon our own manners, we turn first to other Teutons, then to Slavonians and Kelts, or other Aryans, and so on; and we prefer evidence from Europe to examples from Africa.
(4) The Comparative Method assumes that human nature is pretty much the same across different countries and time periods; but, of course, "pretty much" is a key phrase. While there's often a striking and meaningful similarity between the beliefs and institutions of people who are far apart, we expect to draw the most useful comparisons between those who are closely related by descent, geography, or culture. To better understand our own customs, we look first to other Germans, then to Slavs and Celts, or other Aryans, and so on; and we prefer examples from Europe over those from Africa.
(5) As to national culture, that it exhibits certain 'stages' of development is popularly recognised in the distinction drawn between savages, barbarians and civilised folk. But the idea remains rather vague; and there is not space here to define it. I refer, therefore, to the[Pg 260] classifications of stages of culture given by A. Sutherland, (Origin and Growth of Moral Instinct, Vol. I, p. 103), and L.T. Hobhouse (Morals in Evolution, c. 2). That in any 'state of Society,' its factors—religion, government, science, etc.—are mutually dependent, was a leading doctrine with Comte, adopted by Mill. There must be some truth in it; but in some cases we do not understand social influences sufficiently well to trace the connection of factors; and whilst preferring to look for historical parallels between nations of similar culture, we find many cases in which barbarous or savage customs linger in a civilised country.
(5) When it comes to national culture, it's commonly accepted that it goes through certain 'stages' of development, typically distinguishing between savages, barbarians, and civilized people. However, this idea is still somewhat unclear, and there's not enough room here to define it. I’ll refer to the [Pg 260] classifications of cultural stages provided by A. Sutherland, (Origin and Growth of Moral Instinct, Vol. I, p. 103), and L.T. Hobhouse (Morals in Evolution, c. 2). In any 'state of Society,' the factors—like religion, government, science, etc.—are interdependent, which was a key belief of Comte and later adopted by Mill. There has to be some truth to this; however, in some instances, we don't understand social influences well enough to link these factors. While we prefer to look for historical parallels between nations with similar cultures, we notice many cases where barbaric or primitive customs still exist in a civilized country.
(6) It was another favourite doctrine with Comte, also adopted by Mill—that the general state of culture is chiefly determined by the prevailing intellectual condition of a people, especially by the accepted ground of explanation—whether the will of supernatural beings, or occult powers, or physical antecedents: the "law of three stages," Fetichism, Metaphysics, Positivism. And this also is, at least, so far true, that it is useless to try to interpret the manners and institutions of any nation until we know its predominant beliefs. Magic and animism are beliefs everywhere held by mankind in early stages of culture, and they influence every action of life. But that is not all: these beliefs retain their hold upon great multitudes of civilised men and affect the thoughts of the most enlightened. Whilst the saying 'that human nature is the same in all ages' seems to make no allowance for the fact that, in some nations, a considerable number of individuals has attained to powers of deliberation, self-control, and exact reasoning, far above the barbarous level, it is yet so far true that, even in civilised countries, masses of people, were it not for the example and instruction of those individuals, would fall back upon magic and animism and the manners that go with those beliefs. The different degrees of enlightenment enjoyed by different classes of[Pg 261] the population often enable the less educated to preserve a barbarous custom amidst many civilised characteristics of the national life.
(6) Comte, along with Mill, strongly believed that the overall level of culture is largely shaped by the dominant intellectual state of a society, particularly by the common explanations accepted—whether it's the influence of supernatural beings, hidden forces, or physical causes: the "law of three stages," Fetishism, Metaphysics, Positivism. It's also true that we can't fully understand the behaviors and institutions of any nation until we grasp its main beliefs. Magic and animism are widespread beliefs in early cultural stages, and they affect every aspect of life. However, that's not the whole story: these beliefs still have a strong hold on many civilized people and shape the thoughts of even the most enlightened individuals. While the idea that "human nature is the same in all ages" doesn't quite take into account that in some societies, many people have developed the ability to think critically, exercise self-control, and reason clearly far beyond barbaric levels, it is still true that even in civilized countries, if it weren't for the guidance and example of those more enlightened individuals, many people would revert to magic and animism along with the behaviors associated with those beliefs. The varying levels of enlightenment among different classes of the population often allow the less educated to cling to primitive customs even amid many civilized features of national life.
§ 8. Historical reasoning must start from, or be verified by, observations. If we are writing the history of ourselves: if of another time or country, we can observe some of the present conditions of the country, its inhabitants, language, manners, institutions, which are effects of the past and must be traceable to it; we may also be able to observe ancient buildings or their ruins, funerary remains, coins, dating from the very times we are to treat of. Our own observations, of course, are by no means free from error.
§ 8. Historical reasoning should begin from or be confirmed by observations. When we're writing our own history, or the history of a different time or place, we can look at the current conditions of that country, its people, language, customs, and institutions, which are the results of the past and should be linked to it. We might also be able to see ancient buildings or their ruins, burial sites, coins, originating from the very periods we are discussing. Naturally, our own observations aren’t completely free from mistakes.
But even in treating of our own age and country, most of our information must be derived from the testimony of others, who may have made mistakes of observation and further mistakes in reporting their observations, or may have intentionally falsified them. Testimony is of two kinds: Oral; and Written, inscribed or printed. In investigating the events of a remote age, nearly all our direct evidence must be some sort of testimony.
But even when discussing our own time and place, most of what we know must come from what others have said, who may have made errors in observing and additional mistakes in sharing those observations, or may have intentionally distorted them. There are two types of testimony: Oral and Written, whether it's recorded or printed. When looking into events from a distant past, almost all our direct evidence will be some form of testimony.
(1) Oral testimony depends upon the character of the witness; and the best witness is not perfectly trustworthy; for he may not have observed accurately, or he may not have reported correctly; especially if some time elapsed between the event and his account of it; for no man's memory is perfect. Since witnesses vary widely in capacity and integrity, we must ask concerning any one of them—was he a good judge of what he saw, and of what was really important in the event? Had he good opportunities of knowing the circumstances? Had he any interest in the event—personal, or partisan, or patriotic? Such interests would colour his report; and so would the love of telling a dramatic story, if that was a weakness of his. Nay, a love of truth might lead him to [Pg 262]modify the report of what he remembered if—as he remembered it—the matter seemed not quite credible. We must also bear in mind that, for want of training, precision in speaking the truth is not understood or appreciated by many honest people even now, still less in unscientific ages.
(1) Oral testimony depends on the witness's character, and even the best witness isn't completely reliable; they might not have seen things accurately or may not relay their account correctly, especially if some time has passed between the event and their description of it, since no one's memory is flawless. As witnesses differ greatly in ability and honesty, we need to consider each one—were they good at judging what they saw and what was truly significant in the situation? Did they have the right opportunities to understand the circumstances? Did they have any personal, partisan, or patriotic interests in the event? Such interests could skew their report; the desire to narrate a dramatic story might also influence them if that's a tendency they have. Additionally, a genuine love of truth might lead them to alter their recollections if—according to their memory—the incident seemed somewhat unbelievable. We must also remember that due to a lack of training, many honest people still don't fully grasp or value precision in speaking the truth, even less so in less scientific eras.
Oral tradition is formed by passing a report from one to another, generation by generation; and it is generally true that such a tradition loses credit at every step, because every narrator has some weakness. However, the value of tradition depends upon the motives people have to report correctly, and on the form of the communication, and on whether monuments survive in connection with the story. Amongst the things best remembered are religious and magic formulæ, heroic poems, lists of ancestors, popular legends about deeply impressive events, such as migrations, conquests, famines, plagues. We are apt now to underrate the value of tradition, because the use of writing has made tradition less important, and therefore less pains are taken to preserve it. In the middle of last century, it was usual (and then quite justifiable) to depreciate oral tradition as nearly worthless; but the spread of archæological and anthropological research, and the growth of the Comparative Method, have given new significance to legends and traditions which, merely by themselves, could not deserve the slightest confidence.
Oral tradition is created by passing a story from one person to another, generation after generation; and it’s usually true that such a tradition loses credibility with each retelling because every storyteller has their own flaws. However, the value of tradition relies on the reasons people have to tell the story accurately, how the story is communicated, and whether any monuments relate to it. The things that are best remembered include religious and magical sayings, heroic poems, family trees, and popular legends about significant events like migrations, conquests, famines, and plagues. Today, we tend to underestimate the importance of tradition because writing has made it less significant, leading to less effort in preserving it. In the middle of last century, it was common (and quite reasonable) to dismiss oral tradition as almost worthless; but the rise of archaeological and anthropological research, along with the development of the Comparative Method, has given new meaning to legends and traditions that would not have been trusted on their own.
(2) As to written evidence, contemporary inscriptions—such as are found on rocks and stones and bricks in various parts of the world, and most abundantly in Egypt and Western Asia—are of the highest value, because least liable to fraudulent abuse; but must be considered with reference to the motives of those who set them forth. Manuscripts and books give rise to many difficulties. We have to consider whether they were originally written by some one contemporary with the events recorded: if [Pg 263]so they have the same value as immediate oral testimony, provided they have not been tampered with since. But if not contemporary records, they may have been derived from other records that were contemporary, or only from oral tradition. In the latter case they are vitiated by the weakness of oral tradition. In the former case, we have to ask what was the trustworthiness of the original records, and how far do the extant writings fairly represent those records?
(2) When it comes to written evidence, modern inscriptions—like those found on rocks, stones, and bricks in various parts of the world, especially in Egypt and Western Asia—are extremely valuable because they are least likely to be faked; however, we must consider the motives of the people who created them. Manuscripts and books present many challenges. We need to determine whether they were originally written by someone who was present during the events recorded: if they were, they hold the same value as direct oral testimony, as long as they haven't been altered since. If they are not contemporary records, they might be based on other records that were contemporary or merely on oral tradition. In the latter case, their reliability is compromised by the flaws of oral tradition. In the former case, we must ask how trustworthy the original records were and to what extent the existing writings accurately represent those records.
Our answers to these questions will partly depend upon what we know or can discover of the authors of the MSS. or books. Who was the author? If a work bears some man's name, did he really write it? The evidence bearing upon this question is usually divided into internal, external and mixed; but perhaps no evidence is purely internal, if we define it as that which is derived entirely from the work itself. Under the name of internal evidence it is usual to put the language, the style, consistency of ideas; but if we had no grounds of judgment but the book itself, we could not possibly say whether the style was the author's: this requires us to know his other works. Nor could we say whether the language was that of his age, unless we knew other literature of the same age; nor even that different passages seem to be written in the manner of different ages, but for our knowledge of change in other literatures. There must in every case be some external reference. Thus we judge that a work is not by the alleged author, nor contemporary with him, if words are used that only became current at a later date, or are used in a sense that they only later acquired, or if later writers are imitated, or if events are mentioned that happened later ('anachronism'). Books are sometimes forged outright, that is, are written by one man and deliberately fathered upon another; but sometimes books come to be ascribed to a well-known name, which were written by some one else [Pg 264]without fraudulent intent, dramatically or as a rhetorical exercise.
Our answers to these questions will partly depend on what we know or can find out about the authors of the manuscripts or books. Who was the author? If a work has someone's name on it, did he really write it? The evidence related to this question is usually categorized into internal, external, and mixed; however, it’s unlikely that any evidence is entirely internal if we define it as being derived completely from the work itself. Internal evidence usually includes language, style, and consistency of ideas; but if we had no basis for judgment other than the book itself, we wouldn’t be able to determine if the style was the author's. This requires knowledge of his other works. We also couldn’t say if the language was from his time unless we were familiar with other literature from the same period, nor could we conclude that different passages appear to be written in the style of different eras, without understanding changes in other literatures. There must always be some external context. Thus, we determine that a work is not by the claimed author or contemporary with him if it includes words that only became popular later, or if they are used in a sense that they only later adopted, or if it imitates later writers, or mentions events that occurred later (this is known as 'anachronism'). Sometimes books are completely forged, meaning they are written by one person and falsely attributed to another; but sometimes books are assigned to a well-known name that were actually written by someone else [Pg 264] without any intent to deceive, either dramatically or as a rhetorical exercise.
As to external evidence, if from other sources we have some knowledge of the facts described in a given book, and if it presents no serious discrepancies with those facts, this is some confirmation of a claim to contemporaneity. But the chief source of external evidence is other literature, where we may find the book in question referred to or quoted. Such other literature may be by another author, as when Aristotle refers to a dialogue of Plato's, or Shakespeare quotes Marlowe; or may be other work of the author himself, as when Aristotle in the Ethics refers to his own Physics, or Chaucer in The Canterbury Tales mentions as his own The Legend of Good Women, and in The Legend gives a list of other works of his. This kind of argument assumes that the authorship of the work we start from is undisputed; which is practically the case with the Ethics and The Canterbury Tales.
As for external evidence, if we have some understanding of the facts presented in a particular book from other sources, and if it shows no significant contradictions with those facts, this supports the claim that the book is contemporary. However, the main source of external evidence is other literature, where we may find the book mentioned or quoted. This other literature could be by different authors, like when Aristotle references one of Plato's dialogues or Shakespeare quotes Marlowe; or it could be another work by the same author, like when Aristotle in the Ethics mentions his own Physics, or Chaucer in The Canterbury Tales refers to The Legend of Good Women and lists other works of his in The Legend. This type of reasoning assumes that the authorship of the work we are examining is generally accepted; which is mostly true for the Ethics and The Canterbury Tales.
But, now, granting that a work is by a good author, or contemporary with the events recorded, or healthily related to others that were contemporary, it remains to consider whether it has been well preserved and is likely to retain its original sense. It is, therefore, desirable to know the history of a book or MS., and through whose hands it has passed. Have there been opportunities of tampering with it; and have there been motives to do so? In reprinting books, but still more in copying MSS., there are opportunities of omitting or interpolating passages, or of otherwise altering the sense. In fact, slight changes are almost sure to be made even without meaning to make them, especially in copying MSS., through the carelessness or ignorance of transcribers. Hence the oldest MS. is reckoned the best.
But now, assuming a work is by a good author, or is contemporary with the events it describes, or is closely related to other works from that time, we still need to think about whether it has been well preserved and is likely to keep its original meaning. So, it's important to know the history of a book or manuscript and who it has belonged to. Were there chances for it to be tampered with, and were there reasons to do so? When reprinting books, and even more so when copying manuscripts, there are chances to leave out passages, add in new ones, or change the meaning in some way. In fact, even small changes are almost guaranteed to happen without intent, especially when copying manuscripts, due to the carelessness or lack of knowledge of those who transcribe them. That’s why the oldest manuscript is usually considered the best.
If a work contains stories that are physically impossible, it shows a defect of judgment in the author, and decreases our confidence in his other statements; but it does not [Pg 265]follow that these others are to be rejected. We must try to compare them with other evidence. Even incredible stories are significant: they show what people were capable of believing, and, therefore, under what conditions they reasoned and acted. One cause of the incredibility of popular stories is the fusion of legend with myth. A legend is a traditionary story about something that really happened: it may have been greatly distorted by stupidity, or exaggeration, or dramatisation, or rationalisation, but may still retain a good deal of the original fact. A myth, however, has not necessarily any basis of fact: it may be a sort of primitive philosophy, an hypothesis freely invented to explain some fact in nature, such as eclipses, or to explain some social custom whose origin is forgotten, such as the sacrificing of a ram.
If a work includes stories that are physically impossible, it reflects poor judgment on the part of the author and undermines our confidence in their other claims; however, that doesn't mean we should dismiss those other claims. We need to compare them with additional evidence. Even unbelievable stories can be important: they reveal what people were able to believe, which indicates the conditions under which they thought and acted. One reason popular stories often seem unbelievable is the blending of legend and myth. A legend is a traditional story about something that actually happened; it may have been significantly distorted by ignorance, exaggeration, dramatization, or rationalization, but it can still hold a lot of the original truth. A myth, on the other hand, doesn’t necessarily have any basis in fact; it can be a form of primitive philosophy, a freely invented idea to explain some natural phenomenon, like eclipses, or to clarify the origins of a social custom that has been forgotten, like the ritual sacrifice of a ram.
All historical conclusions, then, depend on a sum of convergent and conflicting probabilities in the nature of circumstantial evidence. The best testimony is only highly probable, and it is always incomplete. To complete the picture of any past age there is no resource but the Comparative Method. We use this method without being aware of it, whenever we make the records of the last generation intelligible to ourselves by our own experience. Without it nothing would be intelligible: an ancient coin or weapon would have no meaning, were we not acquainted with the origins and uses of other coins and weapons. Generally, the further we go back in history, the more the evidence needs interpretation and reconstruction, and the more prominent becomes the appeal to the Comparative Method. Our aim is to construct a history of the world, and of the planet as part of the world, and of mankind as part of the life of the planet, in such a way that every event shall be consistent with, and even required by, the rest according to the principle of Causation.
All historical conclusions rely on a mix of overlapping and conflicting probabilities rooted in circumstantial evidence. The best testimony is only highly likely, and it’s always incomplete. To complete the picture of any past era, we have no choice but to use the Comparative Method. We apply this method without even realizing it whenever we make the records of the previous generation understandable to ourselves through our own experiences. Without it, nothing would make sense: an ancient coin or weapon would be meaningless if we weren’t familiar with the origins and functions of other coins and weapons. Generally, the further we look back in history, the more the evidence needs interpretation and reconstruction, and the more we rely on the Comparative Method. Our goal is to build a history of the world, of the planet as part of that world, and of humanity as part of the life of the planet, in such a way that every event aligns with, and even is necessitated by, the rest based on the principle of Causation.
CHAPTER XVIII
HYPOTHESES
§ 1. An Hypothesis, sometimes employed instead of a known law, as a premise in the deductive investigation of nature, is defined by Mill as "any supposition which we make (either without actual evidence, or on evidence avowedly insufficient) in order to endeavour to deduce from it conclusions in accordance with facts which are known to be real; under the idea that if the conclusions to which the hypothesis leads are known truths, the hypothesis itself either must be, or at least is likely to be, true." The deduction of known truths from an hypothesis is its Verification; and when this has been accomplished in a good many cases, and there are no manifest failures, the hypothesis is often called a Theory; though this term is also used for the whole system of laws of a certain class of phenomena, as when Astronomy is called the 'theory of the heavens.' Between hypothesis and theory in the former sense no distinct line can be drawn; for the complete proof of any speculation may take a long time, and meanwhile the gradually accumulating evidence produces in different minds very different degrees of satisfaction; so that the sanguine begin to talk of 'the theory,' whilst the circumspect continue to call it 'the hypothesis.'
§ 1. A hypothesis, sometimes used instead of a known law as a starting point in the deductive investigation of nature, is defined by Mill as "any assumption we make (either without actual evidence or based on evidence that is clearly insufficient) in order to try to derive conclusions that align with facts we know to be true; with the idea that if the conclusions resulting from the hypothesis are accepted truths, then the hypothesis itself must be, or at least is likely to be, true." The process of deriving known truths from a hypothesis is its verification; and when this has been achieved in several cases without noticeable failures, the hypothesis is often referred to as a theory; although this term is also used for the entire system of laws governing a specific type of phenomena, as when Astronomy is called the 'theory of the heavens.' There is no clear boundary between hypothesis and theory in this earlier sense; because complete proof of any idea may take a long time, and in the meantime, the accumulating evidence creates very different levels of confidence in different people; so the optimistic start to call it 'theory,' while the cautious continue to refer to it as 'hypothesis.'
An Hypothesis may be made concerning (1) an Agent, such as the ether; or (2) a Collocation, such as the plan of our solar system—whether geocentric or heliocentric; or (3) a Law of an agent's operation, as that light is trans[Pg 267]mitted by a wave motion of such lengths or of such rates of vibration.
A hypothesis can be made about (1) an agent, like the ether; or (2) a configuration, like the layout of our solar system—whether it's geocentric or heliocentric; or (3) a law governing an agent's operation, such as how light is transmitted by wave motion at certain lengths or vibration rates.
The received explanation of light involves both an agent, the ether, as an all-pervading elastic fluid, and also the law of its operation, as transmitting light in waves of definite form and length, with definite velocity. The agreement between the calculated results of this complex hypothesis and the observed phenomena of light is the chief part of the verification; which has now been so successfully accomplished that we generally hear of the 'Undulatory Theory.' Sometimes a new agent only is proposed; as the planet Neptune was at first assumed to exist in order to account for perturbations in the movements of Uranus, influencing it according to the already established law of gravitation. Sometimes the agents are known, and only the law of their operation is hypothetical, as was at first the case with the law of gravitation itself. For the agents, namely, Earth, falling bodies on the Earth, Moon, Sun, and planets were manifest; and the hypothesis was that their motions might be due to their attracting one another with a force inversely proportional to the squares of the distances between them. In the Ptolemaic Astronomy, again, there was an hypothesis as to the collocation of the heavenly bodies (namely, that our Earth was the centre of the universe, and that Moon, Sun, planets and stars revolved around her): in the early form of the system there was also an hypothesis concerning agents upon which this arrangement depended (namely, the crystalline spheres in which the heavenly bodies were fixed, though these were afterwards declared to be imaginary); and an hypothesis concerning the law of operation (namely, that circular motion is the most perfect and eternal, and therefore proper to celestial things).
The explanation of light we accept involves an agent, the ether, which is an all-pervading elastic fluid, and it outlines how this agent operates by transmitting light in waves of specific shape and length at a set speed. The alignment between the calculated outcomes of this intricate hypothesis and the observed behaviors of light is key to the verification process, which has been so effectively achieved that we commonly refer to the 'Undulatory Theory.' Occasionally, a new agent is proposed, like how Neptune was initially thought to exist to explain the irregularities in Uranus's movements, affecting it according to the existing law of gravitation. Sometimes we know the agents, but the functioning law is just a hypothesis, as was the case in the early understanding of gravitation itself. Here, the agents—Earth, falling objects on Earth, the Moon, the Sun, and the planets—were clear, and the hypothesis suggested their movements might be influenced by each other through a force that varies inversely with the square of the distance between them. In Ptolemaic Astronomy, there was a hypothesis about the arrangement of celestial bodies, positing that Earth was the center of the universe, with the Moon, Sun, planets, and stars revolving around it. The early version of this system also included a hypothesis about the agents supporting this structure—namely, the crystalline spheres that held the heavenly bodies, although these were later deemed imaginary—and a hypothesis about how they operated, claiming that circular motion is the most perfect and eternal, and therefore suited for celestial entities.
Hypotheses are by no means confined to the physical sciences: we all make them freely in private life. In searching for anything, we guess where it may be before [Pg 268]going to look for it: the search for the North Pole was likewise guided by hypotheses how best to get there. In estimating the characters or explaining the conduct of acquaintances or of public men, we frame hypotheses as to their dispositions and principles. 'That we should not impute motives' is a peculiarly absurd maxim, as there is no other way of understanding human life. To impute bad motives, indeed, when good are just as probable, is to be wanting in the scientific spirit, which views every subject in 'a dry light.' Nor can we help 'judging others by ourselves'; for self-knowledge is the only possible starting-point when we set out to interpret the lives of others. But to understand the manifold combinations of which the elements of character are susceptible, and how these are determined by the breeding of race or family under various conditions, and again by the circumstances of each man's life, demands an extraordinary union of sympathetic imagination with scientific habits of thought. Such should be the equipment of the historian, who pursues the same method of hypothesis when he attempts to explain (say) the state of parties upon the Exclusion Bill, or the policy of Louis XI. Problems such as the former of these are the easier; because, amidst the compromises of a party, personal peculiarities obliterate one another, and expose a simpler scheme of human nature with fewer fig-leaves. Much more hazardous hypotheses are necessary in interpreting the customs of savages, and the feelings of all sorts of animals. Literary criticisms, again, abound with hypotheses: e.g., as to the composition of the Homeric poems, the order of the Platonic dialogues, the authorship of the Cædmonic poems, or the Ossianic, or of the letters of Junius. Thus the method of our everyday thoughts is identical with that of our most refined speculations; and in every case we have to find whether the hypothesis accounts for the facts.
Hypotheses aren't just limited to the physical sciences; we make them in our everyday lives too. When searching for something, we guess where it might be before we actually start looking for it: the search for the North Pole was also based on hypotheses about the best way to get there. When we try to understand the personalities or motivations of friends or public figures, we create hypotheses about their behaviors and principles. The idea that we shouldn't attribute motives is particularly ridiculous, as it's impossible to understand human life without doing so. Assuming bad motives when good ones are just as likely shows a lack of scientific spirit, which looks at every issue 'objectively.' We can't help but 'judge others by ourselves'; self-awareness is the only starting point for interpreting others' lives. However, grasping the complex combinations of character traits and how these are shaped by family lineage or various circumstances requires a remarkable blend of empathy and scientific thinking. This should be the skill set of a historian, who employs the same hypothesis-driven method to explain something like the state of parties during the Exclusion Bill or the strategies of Louis XI. The former is easier to address because, within the compromises of a party, individual quirks blend together, revealing a simpler view of human nature with fewer frills. More uncertain hypotheses are needed to understand the customs of primitive societies or the emotions of different animals. Literary critiques also contain many hypotheses; for example, regarding the composition of Homer's poems, the sequence of Plato's dialogues, the authorship of the Cædmonic poems, the Ossianic works, or the letters of Junius. Thus, the way we think in our daily lives mirrors our most sophisticated analyses, and in every situation, we need to determine whether the hypothesis aligns with the facts.
§ 2. It follows from the definition of an hypothesis that [Pg 269]none is of any use that does not admit of verification (proof or disproof), by comparing the results that may be deduced from it with facts or laws. If so framed as to elude every attempt to test it by facts, it can never be proved by them nor add anything to our understanding of them.
§ 2. From the definition of a hypothesis, it’s clear that [Pg 269]none is useful unless it can be verified (either proven or disproven) by comparing the outcomes derived from it with actual facts or laws. If it’s constructed in a way that avoids any testing with facts, it can never be proven by those facts nor contribute anything to our understanding of them.
Suppose that a conjurer asserts that his table is controlled by the spirit of your deceased relative, and makes it rap out an account of some adventure that could not easily have been within a stranger's knowledge. So far good. Then, trying again, the table raps out some blunder about your family which the deceased relative could not have committed; but the conjurer explains that 'a lying spirit' sometimes possesses the table. This amendment of the hypothesis makes it equally compatible with success and with failure. To pass from small things to great, not dissimilar was the case of the Ptolemaic Astronomy: by successive modifications, its hypothesis was made to correspond with accumulating observations of the celestial motions so ingeniously that, until the telescope was invented, it may be said to have been unverifiable. Consider, again, the sociological hypothesis, that civil order was at first founded on a Contract which remains binding upon all mankind: this is reconcilable with the most opposite institutions. For we have no record of such an event: and if the institutions of one State (say the British) include ceremonies, such as the coronation oath and oath of allegiance, which may be remnants of an original contract, they may nevertheless be of comparatively recent origin; whereas if the institutions of another State (say the Russian) contain nothing that admits of similar interpretation, yet traces of the contract once existing may long since have been obliterated. Moreover, the actual contents of the contract not having been preserved, every adherent of this hypothesis supplies them at his own discretion, 'according to the dictates of[Pg 270] Reason'; and so one derives from it the duty of passive obedience, and another with equal cogency establishes the right of rebellion.
Suppose a magician claims that his table is being controlled by the spirit of your deceased relative and makes it tap out a story about some adventure that a stranger wouldn't easily know. So far, so good. Then, when he tries again, the table taps out a mistake about your family that the deceased relative couldn't have made; but the magician explains that "a lying spirit" sometimes takes over the table. This adjustment to the idea makes it compatible with both success and failure. Similarly, in a bigger context, the case of Ptolemaic Astronomy was not much different: by continuously modifying its hypothesis, it was made to align so cleverly with accumulating observations of the celestial movements that, until the telescope was invented, it could be said to be unverifiable. Consider, again, the sociological hypothesis that civil order was initially based on a Contract that still binds all of humankind: this can be reconciled with completely opposing institutions. We have no record of such an event; and if the institutions of one State (for instance, the British) include ceremonies like the coronation oath and the oath of allegiance, which might be remnants of an original contract, they could still be of relatively recent origin. On the other hand, if the institutions of another State (say the Russian) don’t contain anything that can be interpreted similarly, any traces of the contract that once existed may have long been erased. Furthermore, since the actual contents of the contract have not been preserved, every supporter of this hypothesis fills them in at their own discretion, "according to the dictates of[Pg 270] Reason"; and from this, some conclude the duty of passive obedience, while others equally compellingly assert the right to rebel.
To be verifiable, then, an hypothesis must be definite; if somewhat vague in its first conception (which is reasonably to be expected), it must be made definite in order to be put to the proof. But, except this condition of verifiability, and definiteness for the sake of verifiability, without which a proposition does not deserve the name of an hypothesis, it seems inadvisable to lay down rules for a 'legitimate' hypothesis. The epithet is misleading. It suggests that the Logician makes rules for scientific inquirers; whereas his business is to discover the principles which they, in fact, employ in what are acknowledged to be their most successful investigations. If he did make rules for them, and they treated him seriously, they might be discouraged in the exercise of that liberty of hypothesising which is the condition of all originality; whilst if they paid no attention to him, he must suffer some loss of dignity. Again, to say that a 'legitimate hypothesis' must explain all the facts, at least in the department for which it is invented, is decidedly discouraging. No doubt it may be expected to do this in the long run when (if ever) it is completely established; but this may take a long time: is it meanwhile illegitimate? Or can this adjective be applied to Newton's corpuscular theory of light, even though it has failed to explain all the facts?
To be verifiable, a hypothesis must be clear; if it's a bit vague in its initial idea (which is reasonable to expect), it needs to be clarified in order to be tested. But aside from this requirement of verifiability and clarity for the sake of verifiability—which are necessary for something to be called a hypothesis—it seems unwise to set rules for a 'legitimate' hypothesis. The term is misleading. It implies that the Logician creates rules for scientists; meanwhile, his role is to identify the principles that they actually use in their most recognized successful research. If he did create rules for them and they took him seriously, it could stifle their ability to hypothesize, which is essential for all originality; but if they ignored him, he would lose some respect. Additionally, saying that a 'legitimate hypothesis' must account for all the facts, at least in its area, is definitely discouraging. Sure, it might be expected to do so eventually, once (if ever) it’s fully established; but that could take a long time. Does that make it illegitimate in the meantime? Or can this term apply to Newton's corpuscular theory of light, even if it hasn't explained all the facts?
(1) If a new agent be proposed, it is desirable that we should be able directly to observe it, or at least to obtain some evidence of its existence of a different kind from the very facts which it has been invented to explain. Thus, in the discovery of Neptune, after the existence of such a planet outside the orbit of Uranus had been conjectured (to [Pg 271]account for the movements of the latter), the place in the heavens which such a body should occupy at a certain time was calculated, and there by means of the telescope it was actually seen.
(1) If a new agent is suggested, it’s important that we can either directly observe it or at least gather some proof of its existence that isn’t just based on the facts it was created to explain. For example, when Neptune was discovered, the idea of a planet beyond Uranus was theorized (to [Pg 271]clarify the movements of Uranus). The specific spot in the sky where this planet would be at a certain time was calculated, and then it was actually observed through a telescope.
Agents, however, are assumed and reasoned upon very successfully which, by their nature, never can be objects of perception: such are the atoms of Chemistry and the ether of Optics. But the severer methodologists regard them with suspicion: Mill was never completely convinced about the ether; the defining of which has been found very difficult. He was willing, however, to make the most of the evidence that has been adduced as indicating a certain property of it distinct from those by which it transmits radiation, namely, mechanical inertia, whereby it has been supposed to retard the career of the heavenly bodies, as shown especially by the history of Encke's comet. This comet returned sooner than it should, as calculated from the usual data; the difference was ascribed to the influence of a resisting medium in reducing the extent of its orbit; and such a medium may be the ether. If this conjecture (now of less credit) should gain acceptance, the ether might be regarded as a vera causa (that is, a condition whose existence may be proved independently of the phenomena it was intended to explain), in spite of its being excluded by its nature from the sphere of direct perception. However, science is not a way of perceiving things, but essentially a way of thinking about them. It starts, indeed, from perception and returns to it, and its thinking is controlled by the analogies of perception. Atoms and ether are thought about as if they could be seen or felt, not as noumena; and if still successful in connecting and explaining perceptions, and free from contradiction, they will stand as hypotheses on that ground.
Agents are thought about and reasoned upon quite successfully, even though they can never be directly perceived: for example, the atoms in chemistry and the ether in optics. However, more rigorous methodologists are skeptical of them: Mill was never fully convinced about the ether, which has proven difficult to define. Still, he was willing to consider the evidence suggesting that it has a property, distinct from how it transmits radiation, namely mechanical inertia, believed to slow down celestial bodies, particularly as illustrated by the history of Encke's comet. This comet returned sooner than expected based on standard calculations; this discrepancy was attributed to the influence of a resisting medium affecting its orbit, and this medium might be the ether. If this idea (which is now viewed with less confidence) gains support, the ether could be seen as a vera causa (that is, a condition whose existence can be proven independently of the phenomena it seeks to explain), despite being inherently excluded from direct perception. However, science isn't just a way of perceiving things; it's fundamentally a way of thinking about them. It indeed begins with perception and circles back to it, with its thoughts shaped by the analogies of perception. Atoms and ether are considered as if they could be seen or felt, not as noumena; and if they continue to successfully connect and explain perceptions while remaining free from contradiction, they will be accepted as hypotheses based on that criterion.
On the other hand, a great many agents, once assumed in order to explain phenomena, have since been explained away. Of course, a fact can never be 'explained away':[Pg 272] the phrase is properly applicable to the fate of erroneous hypotheses, when, not only are they disproved, but others are established in their places. Of the Aristotelian spheres, which were supposed to support and translate sun, moon and planets, no trace has ever been found: they would have been very much in the way of the comets. Phlogiston, again, an agent much in favour with the earlier Chemists, was found, Whewell tells us, when their theories were tested by exact weighing, to be not merely non-existent but a minus quantity; that is to say, it required the assumption of its absolute lightness "so that it diminished the weight of the compounds into which it entered." These agents, then, the spheres and phlogiston, have been explained away, and instead of them we have the laws of motion and oxygen.
On the other hand, many agents that were once believed to explain phenomena have since been dismissed. Of course, a fact can never be 'explained away':[Pg 272] this phrase accurately describes the fate of incorrect hypotheses, which, when disproven, are replaced by more accurate theories. No evidence for the Aristotelian spheres, thought to support and move the sun, moon, and planets, has ever been found: they would have obstructed the comets. Similarly, phlogiston, which was popular among early chemists, was shown by Whewell to be not only nonexistent but also a negative quantity when their theories were tested with precise measurements; in other words, it required the assumption of being completely weightless "so that it decreased the weight of the compounds it was part of." Thus, these agents, the spheres and phlogiston, have been replaced, and in their place, we now have the laws of motion and oxygen.
(2) Whether the hypothetical agent be perceptible or not, it cannot be established as a cause, nor can a supposed law of such an agent be accepted as sufficient to the given inquiry, unless it is adequate to account for the effects which it is called upon to explain, at least so far as it pretends to explain them. The general truth of this is sufficiently obvious, since to explain the facts is the purpose of an hypothesis; and we have seen that Newton gave up his hypothesis that the moon was a falling body, as long as he was unable to show that the amount of its deflection from a tangent (or fall) in a given time, was exactly what it should be, if the Moon was controlled by the same force as falling bodies on the Earth.
(2) Whether the hypothetical agent is noticeable or not, it can't be established as a cause, nor can a supposed law of such an agent be accepted as good enough for the inquiry at hand, unless it adequately explains the effects it's meant to clarify, at least to the extent that it claims to do so. This is clearly true, since explaining the facts is the goal of a hypothesis; and we’ve seen that Newton abandoned his hypothesis that the moon was a falling body, as long as he couldn't demonstrate that the amount of its deflection from a tangent (or fall) in a given time was exactly what it should be if the Moon was influenced by the same force as falling bodies on Earth.
It is important to observe the limitations to this canon. In the first place, it says that, unless adequate to explain the facts in question, an hypothesis cannot be 'established'; but, for all that, such an hypothesis may be a very promising one, not to be hastily rejected, since it may take a very long time fully to verify an hypothesis. Some facts may not be obtainable that are necessary to show the connection of others: as, for example, the [Pg 273]hypothesis that all species of animals have arisen from earlier ones by some process of gradual change, can be only imperfectly verified by collecting the fossil remains of extinct species, because immense depths and expanses of fossiliferous strata have been destroyed. Or, again, the general state of culture may be such as to prevent men from tracing the consequences of an hypothesis; for which reason, apparently, the doctrine that the Sun is the centre of our planetary system remained a discredited hypothesis for 2000 years. This should instruct us not to regard an hypothesis as necessarily erroneous or illegitimate merely because we cannot yet see how it works out: but neither can we in such a case regard it as established, unless we take somebody's word for it.
It’s important to recognize the limitations of this framework. First, it states that unless an hypothesis is sufficient to explain the relevant facts, it cannot be 'established'; however, that doesn’t mean the hypothesis isn’t promising and shouldn’t be quickly dismissed, since it can take a long time to fully verify an hypothesis. Some facts that are necessary to demonstrate the connection between others may not be obtainable. For example, the [Pg 273]hypothesis that all species of animals have evolved from earlier ones through some gradual process can only be partially verified by gathering fossil remains of extinct species, because many layers of fossil-rich strata have been lost. Additionally, societal conditions may prevent people from understanding the implications of a hypothesis; for instance, this is likely why the idea that the Sun is at the center of our solar system was seen as a discredited hypothesis for 2000 years. This should remind us not to automatically consider an hypothesis wrong or invalid just because we can’t yet see how it fits; however, we also can’t regard it as established unless we rely on someone’s assurance.
Secondly, the canon says that an hypothesis is not established, unless it accounts for the phenomena so far as it professes to. But it implies a complete misunderstanding to assail a doctrine for not explaining what lies beyond its scope. Thus, it is no objection to a theory of the origin of species, that it does not explain the origin of life: it does not profess to. For the same reason, it is no objection to the theory of Natural Selection, that it does not account for the variations which selection presupposes. But such objections might be perfectly fair against a general doctrine of Evolution.
Secondly, the canon states that a hypothesis isn't validated unless it covers the phenomena as far as it claims to. However, it's a complete misunderstanding to criticize a theory for not explaining what is outside its boundaries. So, it's not a valid criticism of a theory about the origin of species that it doesn't explain the origin of life; it doesn't claim to. For the same reason, it's not a valid criticism of the theory of Natural Selection that it doesn't explain the variations that selection assumes. But such criticisms could be entirely reasonable against a broad theory of Evolution.
An interesting case in Wallace's Darwinism (chap. x.) will illustrate the importance of attending to the exact conditions of an hypothesis. He says that in those groups of "birds that need protection from enemies," "when the male is brightly coloured and the female sits exposed on the nest, she is always less brilliant and generally of quite sober and protective hues"; and his hypothesis is, that these sober hues have been acquired or preserved by Natural Selection, because it is important to the family that the sitting bird should be inconspicuous. Now to this it might be objected that in some birds both sexes [Pg 274]are brilliant or conspicuous; but the answer is that the female of such species does not sit exposed on the nest; for the nests are either domed over, or made in a hole; so that the sitting bird does not need protective colouring. If it be objected, again, that some sober-coloured birds build domed nests, it may be replied that the proposition 'All conspicuously coloured birds are concealed in the nest,' is not to be converted simply into 'All birds that sit concealed in the nest are conspicuously coloured.' In the cases alleged the domed nests are a protection against the weather, and the sober colouring is a general protection to the bird, which inhabits an open country. It may be urged, however, that jays, crows, and magpies are conspicuous birds, and yet build open nests: but these are aggressive birds, not needing protection from enemies. Finally, there are cases, it must be confessed, in which the female is more brilliant than the male, and which yet have open nests. Yes: but then the male sits upon the eggs, and the female is stronger and more pugnacious!
An interesting example in Wallace's Darwinism (chap. x.) highlights the significance of considering the specific conditions of a hypothesis. He points out that in groups of "birds that need protection from enemies," "when the male is brightly colored and the female sits exposed on the nest, she is always less vibrant and generally in more muted, protective colors"; and his hypothesis is that these muted colors have been developed or maintained through Natural Selection because it's crucial for the family that the sitting bird remains inconspicuous. A counterargument might be that in some bird species both sexes [Pg 274]are vibrant or noticeable; however, the response is that the female of such species does not sit exposed on the nest; instead, their nests are often domed over or built in a hole, so the sitting bird doesn't require protective coloring. If it's claimed again that some muted-colored birds build domed nests, it can be countered that the statement 'All conspicuously colored birds are concealed in the nest' cannot simply be flipped to 'All birds that sit concealed in the nest are conspicuously colored.' In the examples given, the domed nests provide protection from the weather, and the muted coloration offers general protection to the bird living in open areas. It might also be argued that jays, crows, and magpies are noticeable birds but still build open nests: these are aggressive birds, not requiring protection from enemies. Ultimately, there are examples where the female is more vibrant than the male and yet still has open nests. Yes: but in those cases, the male sits on the eggs, and the female is stronger and more combative!
Thus every objection is shown to imply some inattention to the conditions of the hypothesis; and in each case it may be said, exceptio probat regulam—the exception tests the rule. (Of course, the usual translation "proves the rule," in the restricted modern sense of "prove," is absurd.) That is to say, it appears on examination: (1) that the alleged exception is not really one, and (2) that it stands in such relation to the rule as to confirm it. For to all the above objections it is replied that, granting the phenomenon in question (special protective colouring for the female) to be absent, the alleged cause (need of protection) is also absent; so that the proof is, by means of the objections, extended, from being one by the method of Agreement, into one by the Double Method.
Thus, every objection shows a lack of attention to the conditions of the hypothesis; and in each case, it can be said, exceptio probat regulam—the exception tests the rule. (Of course, the usual translation "proves the rule," in the limited modern sense of "prove," is ridiculous.) In other words, upon closer inspection: (1) the supposed exception isn't really one, and (2) it relates to the rule in a way that supports it. Because in response to all the above objections, it is argued that if the phenomenon in question (special protective coloring for the female) is absent, then the supposed cause (the need for protection) is also absent; therefore, the proof is, through the objections, expanded from showing a single agreement to demonstrating a double method.
Thirdly, an hypothesis originally intended to account for the whole of a phenomenon and failing to do so, though it cannot be established in that sense, may nevertheless [Pg 275]contain an essential part of the explanation. The Neptunian Hypothesis in Geology, was an attempt to explain the formation of the Earth's outer crust, as having been deposited from an universal ocean of mud. In the progress of the science other causes, seismic, fluvial and atmospheric, have been found necessary in order to complete the theory of the history of the Earth's crust; but it remains true that the stratified rocks, and some that have lost their stratified character, were originally deposited under water. Inadequacy, therefore, is not a reason for entirely rejecting an hypothesis or treating it as illegitimate.
Thirdly, a hypothesis that was originally meant to explain all aspects of a phenomenon may not fully succeed in doing so, but it can still have an important part of the explanation. The Neptunian Hypothesis in Geology was an attempt to explain how the Earth's outer crust was formed from a universal ocean of mud. As the science has developed, other factors like seismic, river-related, and atmospheric processes have been found necessary to complete the theory about the Earth's crust's history. However, it's still true that the layered rocks, and some that have lost their layered structure, were initially deposited underwater. Therefore, just because a hypothesis is incomplete doesn't mean it should be completely dismissed or regarded as invalid.
(3) Granting that the hypothetical cause is real and adequate, the investigation is not complete. Agreement with the facts is a very persuasive circumstance, the more so the more extensive the agreement, especially if no exceptions are known. Still, if this is all that can be said in favour of an hypothesis, it amounts to proof at most by the method of Agreement; it does not exclude the possibility of vicarious causes; and if the hypothesis proposes a new agent that cannot be directly observed, an equally plausible hypothesis about another imagined agent may perhaps be invented.
(3) Even if we assume that the hypothetical cause is real and sufficient, the investigation isn’t finished. Agreement with the facts is a strong point, especially the more extensive the agreement is, particularly if there are no known exceptions. However, if this is all that can be said in support of a hypothesis, it only serves as proof through the method of Agreement at best; it doesn’t rule out the possibility of other causes; and if the hypothesis introduces a new agent that can’t be directly observed, it’s possible to come up with another equally plausible hypothesis about a different imagined agent.
According to Whewell, it is a strong mark of the truth of an hypothesis when it agrees with distinct inductions concerning different classes of facts, and he calls this the 'Consilience of Inductions,' because they jump together in the unity of the hypothesis. It is particularly convincing when this consilience takes place easily and naturally without necessitating the mending and tinkering of the hypothesis; and he cites the Theory of Gravitation and the Undulatory Theory of Light as the most conspicuous examples of such ever-victorious hypotheses. Thus, gravitation explains the fall of bodies on the Earth, and the orbits of the planets and their satellites; it applies to the tides, the comets, the double stars, and gives con[Pg 276]sistency to the Nebular Hypothesis, whence flow important geological inferences; and all this without any need of amendment. Nevertheless, Mill, with his rigorous sense of duty, points out, that an induction is merely a proposition concerning many facts, and that a consilience of inductions is merely a multiplication of the facts explained; and that, therefore, if the proof is merely Agreement in each case, there can be no more in the totality; the possibility of vicarious causes is not precluded; and the hypothesis may, after all, describe an accidental circumstance.
According to Whewell, a strong sign that a hypothesis is true is when it aligns with distinct findings across different categories of facts. He refers to this as the 'Consilience of Inductions' because they come together to support the same hypothesis. It’s particularly convincing when this consilience happens easily and naturally without needing to fix or alter the hypothesis. He cites the Theory of Gravitation and the Undulatory Theory of Light as the most notable examples of such consistently successful hypotheses. For instance, gravitation explains the fall of objects on Earth, as well as the orbits of planets and their moons; it applies to tides, comets, double stars, and provides coherence to the Nebular Hypothesis, from which important geological conclusions can be drawn—all without needing any adjustments. However, Mill, with his strong sense of obligation, points out that an induction is simply a statement about many facts, and that a consilience of inductions is just a reiteration of the facts being explained. Therefore, if the proof relies solely on agreement in each case, it doesn’t provide anything more overall; the possibility of alternative causes remains open, and the hypothesis might just describe a random situation.
Whewell also laid great stress upon prediction as a mark of a true hypothesis. Thus, Astronomers predict eclipses, occultations, transits, long beforehand with the greatest precision; and the prediction of the place of Neptune by sheer force of deduction is one of the most astonishing things in the history of science. Yet Mill persisted in showing that a predicted fact is only another fact, and that it is really not very extraordinary that an hypothesis, that happens to agree with many known facts, should also agree with some still undiscovered. Certainly, there seems to be some illusion in the common belief in the probative force of prediction. Prediction surprises us, puts us off our guard, and renders persuasion easy; in this it resembles the force of an epigram in rhetoric. But cases can be produced in which erroneous hypotheses have led to prediction; and Whewell himself produces them. Thus, he says that the Ptolemaic theory was confirmed by its predicting eclipses and other celestial phenomena, and by leading to the construction of Tables in which the places of the heavenly bodies were given at every moment of time. Similarly, both Newton's theory of light and the chemical doctrine of phlogiston led to predictions which came true.
Whewell also emphasized prediction as a key feature of a true hypothesis. For example, astronomers can predict eclipses, occultations, and transits well in advance with remarkable accuracy; the ability to predict Neptune's position purely through deduction is one of the most impressive achievements in the history of science. However, Mill argued that a predicted fact is just another fact and that it’s not particularly surprising for a hypothesis that aligns with many known facts to also align with some yet-to-be-discovered ones. Clearly, there seems to be some misconception in the widespread belief in the convincing power of prediction. Predictions catch us off guard, making it easier to persuade us, similar to the impact of an epigram in rhetoric. However, there are instances where incorrect hypotheses led to predictions, and Whewell himself provides examples. He points out that the Ptolemaic theory was supported by its ability to predict eclipses and other celestial events, as well as by leading to the creation of tables that indicated the positions of celestial bodies at any given time. Likewise, both Newton's theory of light and the chemical concept of phlogiston resulted in accurate predictions.
What sound method demands in the proof of an hypothesis, then, is not merely that it be shown to agree with the [Pg 277]facts, but that every other hypothesis be excluded. This, to be sure, may be beyond our power; there may in some cases be no such negative proof except the exhaustion of human ingenuity in the course of time. The present theory of colour has in its favour the failure of Newton's corpuscular hypothesis and of Goethe's anti-mathematical hypothesis; but the field of conjecture remains open. On the other hand, Newton's proof that the solar system is controlled by a central force, was supported by the demonstration that a force having any other direction could not have results agreeing with Kepler's second law of the planetary motions, namely, that, as a planet moves in its orbit, the areas described by a line drawn from the sun to the planet are proportional to the times occupied in the planet's motion. When a planet is nearest to the sun, the area described by such a line is least for any given distance traversed by the planet; and then the planet moves fastest: when the planet is furthest from the sun, the area described by such a line is greatest for an equal distance traversed; and then the planet moves slowest. This law may be deduced from the hypothesis of a central force, but not from any other; the proof, therefore, as Mill says, satisfies the method of Difference.
What sound method requires in proving a hypothesis is not just that it aligns with the [Pg 277]facts, but that every other hypothesis is ruled out. This, of course, might be beyond our capability; there may be times when the only negative proof is the limits of human creativity over time. The current theory of color benefits from the failure of Newton's particle hypothesis and Goethe's anti-mathematical hypothesis; however, the realm of speculation remains available. In contrast, Newton's proof that the solar system operates under a central force was reinforced by showing that a force in any other direction wouldn't yield results consistent with Kepler's second law of planetary motion, which states that as a planet travels in its orbit, the areas covered by a line drawn from the sun to the planet are proportional to the time taken in the planet's movement. When a planet is closest to the sun, the area covered by that line is smallest for any given distance the planet travels, and it moves fastest; when the planet is farthest from the sun, the area covered by that line is largest for the same distance traveled, and it moves slowest. This law can be derived from the idea of a central force, but not from any other; thus, the proof, as Mill states, meets the method of Difference.
Apparently, to such completeness of demonstration certain conditions are necessary: the possibilities must lie between alternatives, such as A or not-A, or amongst some definite list of cases that may be exhausted, such as equal, greater or less. He whose hypothesis cannot be brought to such a definite issue, must try to refute whatever other hypotheses are offered, and naturally he will attack first the strongest rivals. With this object in view he looks about for a "crucial instance," that is, an observation or experiment that stands like a cross (sign-post) at the parting of the ways to guide us into the right way, or, in plain words, an instance that can be explained by one hypothesis but not by another. Thus the phases of Venus, [Pg 278]similar to those of the Moon, but concurring with great changes of apparent size, presented, when discovered by Galileo, a crucial instance in favour of the Copernican hypothesis, as against the Ptolemaic, so far at least as to prove that Venus revolved around the Sun inside the orbit of the Earth. Foucault's experiment determining the velocity of Light (cited in the last chapter) was at first intended as an experimentum crucis to decide between the corpuscular and undulatory theories; and answered this purpose, by showing that the velocity of a beam passed through water was less than it should be by the former, but in agreement with the latter doctrine (Deschanel: § 813).
To demonstrate something completely, certain conditions are necessary: the possibilities must exist between two choices, like A or not-A, or among a specific list of cases that can be fully covered, like equal, greater, or less. If someone's hypothesis can't be narrowed down to such a clear conclusion, they must try to disprove any other hypotheses presented, usually starting with the strongest competitors. To do this, they look for a "crucial instance," which is an observation or experiment that serves as a guide at a crossroads, indicating the right path—essentially, an example that can be explained by one hypothesis but not by another. For instance, the phases of Venus, which are similar to those of the Moon but show significant changes in size, provided a crucial instance supporting the Copernican hypothesis when discovered by Galileo, as it demonstrated that Venus orbits the Sun within Earth's orbit. Foucault's experiment to determine the speed of light (mentioned in the last chapter) was initially intended as a crucial experiment to choose between the particle and wave theories; it fulfilled this role by showing that the speed of a light beam passing through water was slower than predicted by the particle theory, but consistent with the wave theory (Deschanel: § 813).
Perhaps experiments of this decisive character are commonest in Chemistry: chemical tests, says Herschel, "are almost universally crucial experiments." The following is abridged from Playfair (Encycl. Met., Diss. III.): The Chemists of the eighteenth century observed that metals were rendered heavier by calcination; and there were two ways of accounting for this: either something had been added in the process, though what, they could not imagine; or, something had been driven off that was in its nature light, namely, phlogiston. To decide between these hypotheses, Lavoisier hermetically sealed some tin in a glass retort, and weighed the whole. He then heated it; and, when the tin was calcined, weighed the whole again, and found it the same as before. No substance, therefore, either light or heavy, had escaped. Further, when the retort was cooled and opened, the air rushed in, showing that some of the air formerly within had disappeared or lost its elasticity. On weighing the whole again, its weight was now found to have increased by ten grains; so that ten grains of air had entered when it was opened. The calcined tin was then weighed separately, and proved to be exactly ten grains heavier than when it was placed in the retort; showing that the ten grains of air that had disappeared had combined with the metal during calcina[Pg 279]tion. This experiment, then, decided against phlogiston, and led to an analysis of common air confirming Priestley's discovery of oxygen.
Perhaps experiments of this kind are most common in Chemistry: chemical tests, as Herschel states, "are almost universally decisive experiments." The following is summarized from Playfair (Encycl. Met., Diss. III.): The chemists of the eighteenth century noted that metals became heavier when calcined; there were two possible explanations for this: either something had been added in the process, though they couldn't figure out what; or, something light had been removed, which they called phlogiston. To determine which hypothesis was correct, Lavoisier sealed some tin in a glass retort and weighed it. He then heated it; and when the tin was calcined, he weighed it again and found it to be the same as before. Therefore, no substance, whether light or heavy, had escaped. Further, when the retort was cooled and opened, air rushed in, indicating that some of the air that was originally inside had vanished or lost its elasticity. Upon weighing everything again, its weight had increased by ten grains, meaning that ten grains of air had entered when it was opened. The calcined tin was then weighed separately and was found to be exactly ten grains heavier than when it was first placed in the retort, showing that the ten grains of air that had disappeared had combined with the metal during calcination. This experiment, then, disproved the existence of phlogiston and led to an analysis of common air that confirmed Priestley's discovery of oxygen.
(4) An hypothesis must agree with the rest of the laws of Nature; and, if not itself of the highest generality, must be derivable from primary laws (chap. xix. § 1). Gravitation and the diffusion of heat, light and sound from a centre, all follow the 'law of the inverse square,' and agree with the relation of the radius of a sphere to its surface. Any one who should think that he had discovered a new central force would naturally begin to investigate it on the hypothesis that it conformed to the same law as gravitation or light. A Chemist again, who should believe himself to have discovered a new element, would expect it to fill one of the vacant places in the Periodic Table. Conformity, in such cases, is strong confirmation, and disagreement is an occasion of misgivings.
(4) A hypothesis must align with the other laws of nature; and, if it isn't the most general, it should be derived from fundamental laws (chap. xix. § 1). Gravitation and the way heat, light, and sound spread out from a center all follow the 'law of the inverse square' and align with how the radius of a sphere relates to its surface area. Anyone who thinks they’ve found a new central force would naturally start investigating it under the assumption that it follows the same law as gravitation or light. Similarly, a chemist who believes they've discovered a new element would expect it to occupy one of the empty spots in the Periodic Table. In these cases, conformity is a strong indication, while disagreement raises doubts.
A narrower hypothesis, as 'that the toad's ugliness is protective', would be supported by the general theory of protective colouring and figure, and by the still more general theory of Natural Selection, if facts could be adduced to show that the toad's appearance does really deter its enemies. Such an hypothesis resembles an Empirical Law in its need of derivation (chap. xix. §§ 1, 2). If underivable from, or irreconcilable with, known laws, it is a mere conjecture or prejudice. The absolute leviation of phlogiston, in contrast with the gravitation of all other forms of matter, discredited that supposed agent. That Macpherson should have found the Ossianic poems extant in the Gaelic memory, was contrary to the nature of oral tradition; except where tradition is organised, as it was for ages among the Brahmins. The suggestion that xanthochroid Aryans were "bleached" by exposure during the glacial period, does not agree with Wallace's doctrine concerning the coloration of Arctic animals. That our forefathers being predatory, like bears, white [Pg 280]variations amongst them were then selected by the advantage of concealment, is a more plausible hypothesis.
A more specific hypothesis, like "the toad's ugliness is protective," would be backed by the general theory of protective coloration and shape, as well as by the broader theory of Natural Selection, if evidence could be presented to show that the toad's appearance actually deters its predators. This hypothesis is similar to an Empirical Law in its need for foundation (chap. xix. §§ 1, 2). If it can't be derived from or is inconsistent with known laws, it is just a guess or a bias. The total removal of phlogiston, in contrast to the gravity of all other forms of matter, undermined that supposed substance. The fact that Macpherson found that the Ossianic poems were still remembered in Gaelic contradicts the nature of oral tradition, unless the tradition has been organized as it was for ages among the Brahmins. The idea that xanthochroid Aryans were "bleached" by exposure during the glacial period does not align with Wallace's theory about the coloration of Arctic animals. The more believable hypothesis is that our ancestors, being predatory like bears, had white variations that were naturally selected for their advantage of concealment.
Although, then, the consilience of Inductions or Hypotheses is not a sufficient proof of their truth, it is still a condition of it; nonconsilience is a suspicious circumstance, and resilience (so to speak), or mutual repugnance, is fatal to one or all.
Although the agreement of inductions or hypotheses isn’t enough to prove their truth, it is still a requirement for it; a lack of agreement is a red flag, and conflicting ideas can be detrimental to one or all.
§ 4. We have now seen that a scientific hypothesis, to deserve the name, must be verifiable and therefore definite; and that to establish itself as a true theory, it must present some symptom of reality, and be adequate and exclusive and in harmony with the system of experience. Thus guarded, hypotheses seem harmless enough; but some people have a strong prejudice against them, as against a tribe of savages without government, or laws, or any decent regard for vested interests. It is well known, too, that Bacon and Newton disparaged them. But Bacon, in his examples of an investigation according to his own method, is obliged, after a preliminary classification of facts, to resort to an hypothesis, calling it permissio intellectus, interpretatio inchoata or vindemiatio prima. And Newton when he said hypotheses non fingo, meant that he did not deal in fictions, or lay stress upon supposed forces (such as 'attraction'), that add nothing to the law of the facts. Hypotheses are essential aids to discovery: speaking generally, deliberate investigation depends wholly upon the use of them.
§ 4. We’ve seen that a scientific hypothesis, to be considered valid, must be testable and clearly defined; to establish itself as a true theory, it must show some aspect of reality and be sufficient, exclusive, and in alignment with the body of experience. When carefully framed, hypotheses seem relatively harmless; however, some people strongly oppose them, similar to how one might view a group of savages lacking government, laws, or any respect for established interests. It's also well-known that Bacon and Newton criticized them. But Bacon, in his examples of investigation following his method, has to resort to a hypothesis after initially classifying facts, referring to it as permissio intellectus, interpretatio inchoata, or vindemiatio prima. And when Newton said hypotheses non fingo, he meant he didn’t deal in fictions or emphasize supposed forces (like 'attraction') that don’t add anything to the laws of the facts. Hypotheses are crucial tools for discovery: generally speaking, thorough investigation relies entirely on their use.
It is true that we may sometimes observe a train of events that chances to pass before us, when either we are idle or engaged with some other inquiry, and so obtain a new glimpse of the course of nature; or we may try experiments haphazard, and watch the results. But, even in these cases, before our new notions can be considered knowledge, they must be definitely framed in hypotheses and reobserved or experimented upon, with whatever calculations or precautions may be necessary to ensure [Pg 281]accuracy or isolation. As a rule, when inquiring deliberately into the cause of an event, whether in nature or in history, we first reflect upon the circumstances of the case and compare it with similar ones previously investigated, and so are guided by a preconception more or less definite of 'what to look for,' what the cause is likely to be, that is, by an hypothesis. Then, if our preconception is justified, or something which we observe leads to a new hypothesis, either we look for other instances to satisfy the canons of Agreement; or (if the matter admits of experiment) we endeavour, under known conditions according to the canon of Difference, to reproduce the event by means of that which our hypothesis assigns as the cause; or we draw remote inferences from our hypothesis, and try to test these by the Inductive Canons.
Sometimes, we notice a series of events happening around us, either when we're just lounging around or busy with something else, giving us a fresh perspective on how nature works. We might also conduct random experiments and observe the outcomes. However, for these new ideas to actually qualify as knowledge, they need to be clearly defined in hypotheses and then verified through further observation or experimentation, using any calculations or precautions necessary to ensure accuracy or isolation. Generally, when we deliberately investigate the cause of an event, be it in nature or history, we begin by reflecting on the specific circumstances and comparing them to similar cases we've studied before. This helps us form a more or less clear idea of what to look for, or what the likely cause might be, which is our hypothesis. If our idea is confirmed, or if something we notice leads us to a new hypothesis, we either search for other examples to meet the standards of Agreement or (if the situation allows for it) we try to recreate the event under controlled conditions as per the canon of Difference, using what our hypothesis suggests as the cause. Alternatively, we might draw broader inferences from our hypothesis and attempt to test these using the Inductive Canons.
If we argue from an hypothesis and express ourselves formally, it will usually appear as the major premise; but this is not always the case. In extending ascertained laws to fresh cases, the minor premise may be an hypothesis, as in testing the chemical constitution of any doubtful substance, such as a piece of ore. Some solution or preparation, A, is generally made which (it is known) will, on the introduction of a certain agent, B, give a reaction, C, if the preparation contains a given substance, X. The major premise is the law of reaction—
If we base our arguments on a hypothesis and present them formally, this usually takes the form of the major premise; however, that's not always true. When applying established laws to new situations, the minor premise can be a hypothesis, like when testing the chemical composition of a questionable substance, such as a piece of ore. Typically, some solution or preparation, A, is created which (it's known) will produce a reaction, C, when a specific agent, B, is introduced, provided that the preparation contains a certain substance, X. The major premise is the law of reaction—
The minor premise is an hypothesis that the preparation contains X. An experiment then treats A with B. If C result, a probability is raised in favour of the hypothesis that A is X; or a certainty, if we know that C results on that condition only.
The minor premise is a hypothesis that the preparation has X. An experiment then treats A with B. If C occurs, it increases the probability that A is X; or it becomes a certainty if we know that C only happens under that condition.
So important are hypotheses to science, that Whewell insists that they have often been extremely valuable even though erroneous. Of the Ptolemaic system he says, "We can hardly imagine that Astronomy could, in its [Pg 282]outset, have made so great a progress under any other form." It served to connect men's thoughts on the subject and to sustain their interest in working it out; by successive corrections "to save appearances," it attained at last to a descriptive sort of truth, which was of great practical utility; it also occasioned the invention of technical terms, and, in general digested the whole body of observations and prepared them for assimilation by a better hypothesis in the fulness of time. Whewell even defends the maxim that "Nature abhors a vacuum," as having formerly served to connect many facts that differ widely in their first aspect. "And in reality is it not true," he asks, "that nature does abhor a vacuum, and does all she can to avoid it?" Let no forlorn cause despair of a champion! Yet no one has accused Whewell of Quixotry; and the sense of his position is that the human mind is a rather feeble affair, that can hardly begin to think except with blunders.
Hypotheses are so crucial to science that Whewell argues they’ve often been incredibly valuable even when they’re wrong. About the Ptolemaic system, he states, "We can hardly imagine that Astronomy could, in its [Pg 282]beginning, have made such great progress under any other form." It helped connect people's thoughts on the topic and kept their interest in figuring it out; through successive adjustments "to save appearances," it eventually reached a descriptive kind of truth that was very practically useful. It also led to the creation of technical terms and, overall, organized the entire body of observations, preparing them for a better hypothesis in time. Whewell even defends the idea that "Nature abhors a vacuum," stating it once helped link many facts that seem very different at first. "And isn’t it true," he asks, "that nature does abhor a vacuum, and does everything it can to avoid it?" Let no desperate cause lose hope in finding support! Yet no one has called Whewell naïve; the essence of his view is that the human mind is quite weak and can hardly start thinking without making mistakes.
The progress of science may be plausibly attributed to a process of Natural Selection; hypotheses are produced in abundance and variety, and those unfit to bear verification are destroyed, until only the fittest survive. Wallace, a practical naturalist, if there ever was one, as well as an eminent theorist, takes the same view as Whewell of such inadequate conjectures. Of 'Lemuria,' an hypothetical continent in the Indian Ocean, once supposed to be traceable in the islands of Madagascar, Seychelles, and Mauritius, its surviving fragments, and named from the Lemurs, its characteristic denizens, he says (Island Life, chap. xix.) that it was "essentially a provisional hypothesis, very useful in calling attention to a remarkable series of problems in geographical distribution [of plants and animals], but not affording the true solution of those problems." We see, then, that 'provisional hypotheses,' or working hypotheses,' though erroneous, may be very useful or (as Whewell says) necessary.
The advancement of science can reasonably be linked to a process of Natural Selection; a variety of hypotheses are generated, and those that can't be proven true are discarded, leaving only the strongest. Wallace, a true practical naturalist and a distinguished theorist, shares the same opinion as Whewell regarding such flawed ideas. He discusses 'Lemuria,' a hypothetical continent in the Indian Ocean that was once thought to be reflected in the islands of Madagascar, Seychelles, and Mauritius, named after its unique inhabitants, the Lemurs. He states in Island Life, chap. xix., that it was "essentially a provisional hypothesis, very useful in highlighting a remarkable series of problems in geographical distribution [of plants and animals], but not providing the accurate solution to those problems." Thus, we can see that 'provisional hypotheses' or 'working hypotheses,' even if incorrect, can still be quite valuable or, as Whewell puts it, necessary.
Hence, to be prolific of hypotheses is the first attribute of scientific genius; the first, because without it no progress whatever can be made. And some men seem to have a marked felicity, a sort of instinctive judgment even in their guesses, as if their heads were made according to Nature. But others among the greatest, like Kepler, guess often and are often wrong before they hit upon the truth, and themselves, like Nature, destroy many vain shoots and seedlings of science for one that they find fit to live. If this is how the mind works in scientific inquiry (as it certainly is, with most men, in poetry, in fine art, and in the scheming of business), it is useless to complain. We should rather recognise a place for fools' hypotheses, as Darwin did for "fools' experiments." But to complete the scientific character, there must be great patience, accuracy, and impartiality in examining and testing these conjectures, as well as great ingenuity in devising experiments to that end. The want of these qualities leads to crude work and public failure and brings hypotheses into derision. Not partially and hastily to believe in one's own guesses, nor petulantly or timidly to reject them, but to consider the matter, to suspend judgment, is the moral lesson of science: difficult, distasteful, and rarely mastered.
Therefore, being able to generate a lot of hypotheses is the primary trait of scientific genius; it's the first because, without it, no progress can be made at all. Some people seem to have a natural talent, an instinctive ability to judge their guesses, as if their minds are aligned with Nature. However, others among the greats, like Kepler, make frequent guesses and are often wrong before they discover the truth, and they, like Nature, eliminate many unproductive ideas and theories for every one that proves valuable. If this is how the mind operates in scientific exploration (as it certainly is for most people in poetry, visual arts, and business strategies), it's pointless to complain. Instead, we should acknowledge a place for "fools' hypotheses," similar to how Darwin allowed for "fools' experiments." But to embody the true scientific spirit, we also need immense patience, precision, and impartiality in evaluating and testing these ideas, along with creativity in designing experiments for that purpose. Lacking these qualities leads to poor work and public failures, causing hypotheses to be ridiculed. The lesson from science is not to believe in our own guesses hastily or reluctantly discard them, but to thoughtfully examine the situation and hold off on our judgment—this is a challenging, unpleasant task that is rarely mastered.
§ 5. The word 'hypothesis' is often used also for the scientific device of treating an Abstraction as, for the purposes of argument, equivalent to the concrete facts. Thus, in Geometry, a line is treated as having no breadth; in Mechanics, a bar may be supposed absolutely rigid, or a machine to work without friction; in Economics, man is sometimes regarded as actuated solely by love of gain and dislike of exertion. The results reached by such reasoning may be made applicable to the concrete facts, if allowance be made for the omitted circumstances or properties, in the several cases of lines, bars, and men; but otherwise all conclusions from abstract terms are limited by their definitions. Abstract reasoning, then (that is, [Pg 284]reasoning limited by definitions), is often said to imply 'the hypothesis' that things exist as their names are defined, having no properties but those enumerated in their definitions. This seems, however, a needless and confusing extension of the term; for an hypothesis proposes an agent, collocation, or law hitherto unknown; whereas abstract reasoning proposes to exclude from consideration a good deal that is well known. There seems no reason why the latter device should not be plainly called an Abstraction.
§ 5. The term 'hypothesis' is often used to refer to the scientific method of treating an abstraction as if it were equivalent to the actual facts, just for the sake of argument. For example, in Geometry, a line is considered to have no width; in Mechanics, a bar can be assumed to be completely rigid, or a machine might be thought to operate without friction; in Economics, humans are sometimes viewed as being driven solely by the desire for profit and a dislike for hard work. The results obtained through this kind of reasoning can be applied to real situations, as long as we take into account the omitted circumstances or properties related to lines, bars, and people. However, all conclusions drawn from abstract terms are restricted by their definitions. Therefore, abstract reasoning (that is, reasoning constrained by definitions) is often said to imply 'the hypothesis' that things exist exactly as their names suggest, having no properties other than those listed in their definitions. This appears to be an unnecessary and confusing expansion of the term; a hypothesis suggests an agent, arrangement, or law that is previously unknown, while abstract reasoning intends to ignore quite a bit of what is already known. There seems to be no reason why this method shouldn't simply be referred to as an Abstraction.
Such abstractions are necessary to science; for no object is comprehensible by us in all its properties at once. But if we forget the limitations of our abstract data, we are liable to make strange blunders by mistaking the character of the results: treating the results as simply true of actual things, instead of as true of actual things only so far as they are represented by the abstractions. In addressing abstract reasoning, therefore, to those who are unfamiliar with scientific methods, pains should be taken to make it clear what the abstractions are, what are the consequent limitations upon the argument and its conclusions, and what corrections and allowances are necessary in order to turn the conclusions into an adequate account of the concrete facts. The greater the number, variety, and subtlety of the properties possessed by any object (such as human nature), the greater are the qualifications required in the conclusions of abstract reasoning, before they can hold true of such an object in practical affairs.
Such abstractions are essential to science, because we can’t understand all the properties of an object at once. However, if we overlook the limitations of our abstract data, we risk making serious mistakes by misinterpreting the results: treating them as universally true for real things, rather than as true only to the extent that they are represented by the abstractions. When presenting abstract reasoning to people who are not familiar with scientific methods, it’s important to clarify what the abstractions are, what limitations they impose on the arguments and conclusions, and what adjustments and considerations are needed to translate the conclusions into an accurate representation of the concrete facts. The more complex, diverse, and nuanced the properties of an object (like human nature), the more careful we must be in our conclusions derived from abstract reasoning, to ensure that they actually apply in real-world situations.
Closely allied to this method of Abstraction is the Mathematical Method of Limits. In his History of Scientific Ideas (B. II. c. 12), Whewell says: "The Idea of a Limit supplies a new mode of establishing mathematical truths. Thus with regard to the length of any portion of a curve, a problem which we have just mentioned; a curve is not made up of straight lines, and therefore we [Pg 285]cannot by means of any of the doctrines of elementary geometry measure the length of any curve. But we may make up a figure nearly resembling any curve by putting together many short straight lines, just as a polygonal building of very many sides may nearly resemble a circular room. And in order to approach nearer and nearer to a curve, we may make the sides more and more small, more and more numerous. We may then possibly find some mode of measurement, some relation of these small lines to other lines, which is not disturbed by the multiplication of the sides, however far it be carried. And thus we may do what is equivalent to measuring the curve itself; for by multiplying the sides we may approach more and more closely to the curve till no appreciable difference remains. The curve line is the Limit of the polygon; and in this process we proceed on the Axiom that 'What is true up to the Limit is true at the Limit.'"
Closely related to this method of abstraction is the mathematical method of limits. In his History of Scientific Ideas (B. II. c. 12), Whewell states: "The Idea of a Limit provides a new way to establish mathematical truths. For example, regarding the length of any part of a curve, a curve isn’t made up of straight lines, which means we [Pg 285]can’t measure the length of any curve using the concepts of basic geometry. However, we can create a figure that closely resembles any curve by combining many short straight lines, similar to how a polygon with many sides can nearly mimic a circular room. To get even closer to the actual curve, we can make the sides smaller and more numerous. This way, we might discover a method of measurement, a relationship of these small lines to other lines, that remains unaffected by the increase in the number of sides, no matter how extensive that is. In this way, we can effectively measure the curve itself; by increasing the number of sides, we can approach the curve more closely until no significant difference exists. The curved line is the Limit of the polygon, and in this process, we operate on the Axiom that 'What is true up to the Limit is true at the Limit.'"
What Whewell calls the Axiom here, others might call an Hypothesis; but perhaps it is properly a Postulate. And it is just the obverse of the Postulate implied in the Method of Abstractions, namely, that 'What is true of the Abstraction is true of concrete cases the more nearly they approach the Abstraction.' What is true of the 'Economic Man' is truer of a broker than of a farmer, of a farmer than of a labourer, of a labourer than of the artist of romance. Hence the Abstraction may be called a Limit or limiting case, in the sense that it stands to concrete individuals, as a curve does to the figures made up "by putting together many short straight lines." Correspondingly, the Proper Name may be called the Limit of the class-name; since its attributes are infinite, whereas any name whose attributes are less than infinite stands for a possible class. In short, for logical purposes, a Limit may be defined as any extreme case to which actual examples may approach without ever reaching it. And in this sense 'Method of Limits' might be used as a term [Pg 286]including the Method of Abstractions; though it would be better to speak of them generically as 'Methods of Approximation.'
What Whewell refers to as the Axiom here, others might call a Hypothesis; but it might be more accurately described as a Postulate. This is essentially the reverse of the Postulate suggested in the Method of Abstractions, which states that "What is true of the Abstraction is true of concrete cases the closer they get to the Abstraction." What is true of the 'Economic Man' is even truer for a broker than for a farmer, for a farmer than for a laborer, and for a laborer than for the artist portrayed in fiction. Therefore, the Abstraction can be considered a Limit or limiting case, in that it relates to concrete individuals in the same way that a curve relates to figures created "by connecting many short straight lines." Similarly, the Proper Name can be seen as the Limit of the class-name; since its attributes are infinite, while any name with attributes that are less than infinite represents a conceivable class. In summary, for logical purposes, a Limit can be defined as any extreme case to which actual examples may draw nearer without ever actually reaching it. In this context, 'Method of Limits' could be used as a term [Pg 286] that includes the Method of Abstractions; although it would be more appropriate to refer to them generally as 'Methods of Approximation.'
We may also notice the Assumptions (as they may be called) that are sometimes employed to facilitate an investigation, because some definite ground must be taken and nothing better can be thought of: as in estimating national wealth, that furniture is half the value of the houses.
We might also see the assumptions (as they're sometimes called) that are used to make an investigation easier, since a clear stance needs to be established and nothing better comes to mind: like estimating national wealth, where furniture is considered half the value of the houses.
It is easy to conceive of an objector urging that such devices as the above are merely ways of avoiding the actual problems, and that they display more cunning than skill. But science, like good sense, puts up with the best that can be had; and, like prudence, does not reject the half-loaf. The position, that a conceivable case that can be dealt with may, under certain conditions, be substituted for one that is unworkable, is a touchstone of intelligence. To stand out for ideals that are known to be impossible, is only an excuse for doing nothing at all.
It’s easy to imagine someone arguing that tools like these are just ways of dodging real issues and show more cleverness than true ability. But science, like common sense, makes do with what’s available; and, like prudence, does not turn away from a partial solution. The idea that a workable alternative can, in certain situations, replace an unmanageable one is a sign of intelligence. Insisting on ideals that are clearly unachievable is just a way to justify inaction.
In another sense, again, the whole of science is sometimes said to be hypothetical, because it takes for granted the Uniformity of Nature; for this, in its various aspects, can only be directly ascertained by us as far as our experience extends; whereas the whole value of the principle of Uniformity consists in its furnishing a formula for the extension of our other beliefs beyond our actual experience. Transcendentalists, indeed, call it a form of Reason, just because it is presupposed in all knowledge; and they and the Empiricists agree that to adduce material evidence for it, in its full extent, is impossible. If, then, material evidence is demanded by any one, he cannot regard the conclusions of Mathematics and Physical Science as depending on what is itself unproved; he must, with Mill, regard these conclusions as drawn "not from but according to" the axioms of Equality and Causation. That is to say, if the axioms are true, the conclusions are; the [Pg 287]material evidence for both the axioms and the conclusions being the same, namely, uncontradicted experience. Now when we say, 'If Nature is uniform, science is true,' the hypothetical character of science appears in the form of the statement. Nevertheless, it seems undesirable to call our confidence in Nature's uniformity an 'hypothesis': it is incongruous to use the same term for our tentative conjectures and for our most indispensable beliefs. 'The Universal Postulate' is a better term for the principle which, in some form or other, every generalisation takes for granted.
In another sense, the entirety of science is sometimes viewed as hypothetical because it assumes the Uniformity of Nature; we can only determine this, in its various aspects, based on the limits of our experience. The true value of the principle of Uniformity lies in its ability to provide a framework for extending our other beliefs beyond what we've directly experienced. Transcendentalists refer to it as a form of Reason because it is assumed in all knowledge; they, along with the Empiricists, agree that it's impossible to provide material evidence for it in its complete form. So, if someone demands material evidence, they cannot see the conclusions of Mathematics and Physical Science as relying on something that hasn't been proven; they must, like Mill, see these conclusions as derived "not from but according to" the axioms of Equality and Causation. In other words, if the axioms are true, then the conclusions are also true, with the material evidence for both the axioms and the conclusions being the same, specifically, consistent experience. When we say, 'If Nature is uniform, science is true,' the hypothetical nature of science becomes evident in that statement. Still, it seems inappropriate to label our trust in Nature's uniformity as an 'hypothesis'; it's odd to use the same term for our tentative guesses and our most essential beliefs. 'The Universal Postulate' is a more suitable term for the principle that every generalization assumes in some form.
We are now sometimes told that, instead of the determinism and continuity of phenomena hitherto assumed by science, we should recognise indeterminism and discontinuity. But it will be time enough to fall in with this doctrine when its advocates produce a new Logic of Induction, and explain the use of the method of Difference and of control experiments according to the new postulates.
We are now sometimes told that, instead of the determinism and continuity of phenomena that science has assumed until now, we should acknowledge indeterminism and discontinuity. But we will accept this view when its proponents present a new Logic of Induction and clarify the use of the method of Difference and control experiments based on these new principles.
CHAPTER XIX
LAWS CLASSIFIED; EXPLANATION; CO-EXISTENCE; ANALOGY
First, there are Axioms or Principles, that is real, universal, self-evident propositions. They are—(1) real propositions; not, like 'The whole is greater than any of its parts,' merely definitions, or implied in definitions. (2) They are regarded as universally true of phenomena, as far as the form of their expression extends; that is, for example, Axioms concerning quantity are true of everything that is considered in its quantitative aspect, though not (of course) in its qualitative aspect. (3) They are self-evident; that is, each rests upon its own evidence (whatever that may be); they cannot be derived from one another, nor from any more general law. Some, indeed, are more general than others: the Logical Principle of Contradiction, 'if A is B, it is not not-B', is true of qualities as well as of quantities; whereas the Axioms of Mathematics apply only to quantities. The Mathematical Axioms, again, apply to time, space, mental phenomena, and matter and energy; whereas the Law of Causation is only true of concrete events in the redistribution of matter and energy: such, at least, is the strict limit of Causation, if we identify it with the Conservation of Energy; although our imperfect knowledge of life and [Pg 289]mind often drives us to speak of feelings, ideas, volitions, as causes. Still, the Law of Causation cannot be derived from the Mathematical Axioms, nor these from the Logical. The kind of evidence upon which Axioms rest, or whether any evidence can be given for them, is (as before observed) a question for Metaphysics, not for Logic. Axioms are the upward limit of Logic, which, like all the special sciences, necessarily takes them for granted, as the starting point of all deduction and the goal of all generalisation.
First, there are Axioms or Principles, which are real, universal, self-evident statements. They are—(1) real statements; not, like 'The whole is greater than any of its parts,' just definitions or implied in definitions. (2) They are seen as universally true for phenomena, based on how their expression is framed; for example, Axioms concerning quantity are true for everything considered in its quantitative aspect, though not (of course) in its qualitative aspect. (3) They are self-evident; that is, each relies on its own evidence (whatever that may be); they cannot be derived from one another, nor from any broader law. Some are indeed more general than others: the Logical Principle of Contradiction, 'if A is B, it is not not-B', is true for both qualities and quantities; whereas the Axioms of Mathematics apply only to quantities. The Mathematical Axioms, in turn, apply to time, space, mental phenomena, and matter and energy; whereas the Law of Causation is only true for concrete events in the redistribution of matter and energy: such, at least, is the strict limit of Causation if we associate it with the Conservation of Energy; although our limited understanding of life and [Pg 289]mind often leads us to refer to feelings, ideas, and intentions as causes. Still, the Law of Causation cannot be derived from the Mathematical Axioms, nor these from the Logical. The type of evidence that supports Axioms, or whether any evidence can be provided for them, is (as noted earlier) a question for Metaphysics, not for Logic. Axioms are the upper limit of Logic, which, like all the specific sciences, must take them for granted as the foundation of all deduction and the aim of all generalization.
Next to Axioms, come Primary Laws of Nature: these are of less generality than the Axioms, and are subject to the conditions of methodical proof; being universally true only of certain forces or properties of matter, or of nature under certain conditions; so that proof of them by logical or mathematical reasoning is expected, because they depend upon the Axioms for their formal evidence. Such are the law of gravitation, in Astronomy; the law of definite proportions, in Chemistry; the law of heredity, in Biology; and in Psychology, the law of relativity.
Next to Axioms are the Primary Laws of Nature: these are less general than the Axioms and require methodical proof. They are universally true only for certain forces or properties of matter, or for nature under specific conditions, so logical or mathematical reasoning is expected for their proof, as they rely on the Axioms for their formal evidence. Examples include the law of gravitation in Astronomy, the law of definite proportions in Chemistry, the law of heredity in Biology, and the law of relativity in Psychology.
Then, there are Secondary Laws, of still less generality, resulting from a combination of conditions or forces in given circumstances, and therefore conceivably derivable from the laws of those conditions or forces, if we can discover them and compute their united effects. Accordingly, Secondary Laws are either—(1) Derivative, having been analysed into, and deduced from, Primary Laws; or (2) Empirical, those that have not yet been deduced (though from their comparatively special and complex character, it seems probable they may be, given sufficient time and ingenuity), and that meanwhile rest upon some unsatisfactory sort of induction by Agreement or Simple Enumeration.
Then, there are Secondary Laws, which are even less general, arising from a combination of conditions or forces in specific circumstances. They can potentially be derived from the laws of those conditions or forces if we can identify them and calculate their combined effects. Therefore, Secondary Laws are either—(1) Derivative, being broken down into, and inferred from, Primary Laws; or (2) Empirical, those that haven’t been inferred yet (although given their relatively specific and complex nature, it seems likely they can be, with enough time and creativity), and that currently rely on some unsatisfactory form of induction based on Agreement or Simple Enumeration.
Whether laws proved only by the canon of Difference are to be considered Empirical, is perhaps a question: their proof derives them from the principle of Causation; but, being of narrow scope, some more special account of [Pg 290]them seems requisite in relation to the Primary Laws before we can call them Derivative in the technical sense.
Whether laws supported solely by the principle of Difference should be viewed as Empirical is a question worth considering: their validation comes from the principle of Causation; however, since they have a limited focus, a more detailed explanation of [Pg 290] them seems necessary in relation to the Primary Laws before we can classify them as Derivative in the technical sense.
Many Secondary Laws, again, are partially or imperfectly Derivative; we can give general reasons for them, without being able to determine theoretically the precise relations of the phenomena they describe. Meteorologists can explain the general conditions of all sorts of weather, but have made little progress toward predicting the actual course of it (at least, for our island): Geologists know the general causes of mountain ranges, but not why they rise just where we find them: Economists explain the general course of a commercial crisis, but not why the great crises recurred at intervals of about ten years.
Many secondary laws are often only partially or imperfectly derived; we can provide general explanations for them without being able to theoretically figure out the exact relationships of the phenomena they describe. Meteorologists can explain the general conditions for different types of weather, but they haven’t made much progress in predicting its actual course (at least not for our island). Geologists understand the general causes of mountain ranges, but they don't know why they form exactly where we find them. Economists can outline the general trajectory of a commercial crisis, but they can't explain why major crises tend to happen roughly every ten years.
Derivative Laws make up the body of the exact sciences, having been assimilated and organised; whilst Empirical Laws are the undigested materials of science. The theorems of Euclid are good examples of derivative laws in Mathematics; in Astronomy, Kepler's laws and the laws of the tides; in Physics, the laws of shadows, of perspective, of harmony; in Biology, the law of protective coloration; in Economics, the laws of prices, wages, interest, and rent.
Derivative laws constitute the foundation of the exact sciences, as they have been processed and structured, while empirical laws represent the raw materials of science. Euclid's theorems are prime examples of derivative laws in mathematics; in astronomy, we have Kepler's laws and the laws of tides; in physics, the laws of shadows, perspective, and harmony; in biology, the law of protective coloration; and in economics, the laws of prices, wages, interest, and rent.
Empirical Laws are such as Bode's law of the planetary distances; the laws of the expansion of different bodies by heat, and formulæ expressing the electrical conductivity of each substance as a function of the temperature. Strictly speaking, I suppose, all the laws of chemical combination are empirical: the law of definite proportions is verifiable in all cases that have been examined, except for variations that may be ascribed to errors of experiment. Much the same is true in Biology; most of the secondary laws are empirical, except so far as structures or functions may be regarded as specialised cases in Physics or Chemistry and deducible from these sciences. The theory of Natural Selection, however, has been the means of rendering many laws, that were once wholly empirical, at least [Pg 291]partially derivative; namely, the laws of the geographical distribution of plants and animals, and of their adaptation in organisation, form and colour, habits and instincts, to their various conditions of life. The laws that remain empirical in Biology are of all degrees of generality from that of the tendency to variation in size and in every other character shown by every species (though as to the reason of this there are promising hypotheses), down to such curious cases as that the colour of roses and carnations never varies into blue, that scarlet flowers are never sweet-scented, that bullfinches fed on hemp-seed turn black, that the young of white, yellow and dun pigeons are born almost naked (whilst others have plenty of down); and so on. The derivation of empirical laws is the greater part of the explanation of Nature (§§ 5, 6).
Empirical laws include things like Bode's law of planetary distances, the laws governing how different materials expand when heated, and formulas that express how the electrical conductivity of each substance changes with temperature. Strictly speaking, I think all the laws of chemical combination are empirical: the law of definite proportions holds true in all the cases that have been studied, except for discrepancies that can be attributed to experimental errors. The same is largely true in biology; most secondary laws are empirical, unless certain structures or functions can be seen as specialized examples from physics or chemistry and can be explained through those sciences. However, the theory of natural selection has allowed many laws that were previously purely empirical to become at least partially derived; this includes the laws of geographical distribution of plants and animals, as well as their adaptations in structure, shape, color, behavior, and instincts to their varying environments. The laws that remain empirical in biology vary greatly, from the general tendency for variation in size and other traits across all species (although there are promising hypotheses regarding the reasons for this), down to specific curiosities like how the color of roses and carnations never turns blue, that scarlet flowers are never sweet-scented, that bullfinches fed on hemp seeds turn black, and that the young of white, yellow, and dun pigeons are born almost naked (while others are covered in down); and so on. Deriving empirical laws covers a significant part of understanding nature (§§ 5, 6).
A 'Fact,' in the common use of the word, is a particular observation: it is the material of science in its rawest state. As perceived by a mind, it is, of course, never absolutely particular: for we cannot perceive anything without classing it, more or less definitely, with things already known to us; nor describe it without using connotative terms which imply a classification of the things denoted. Still, we may consider an observation as particular, in comparison with a law that includes it with numerous others in one general proposition. To turn an observation into an experiment, or (where experiment is impracticable) to repeat it with all possible precautions and exactness, and to describe it as to the duration, quantity, quality and order of occurrence of its phenomena, is the first stage of scientific manufacture. Then comes the formulation of an empirical law; and lastly, if possible, deduction or derivation, either from higher laws previously ascertained, or from an hypothesis. However, as a word is used in various senses, we often speak of laws as 'facts': we say the law of gravitation is a fact, meaning that it is real, or verifiable by observations or experiments.
A 'fact,' in everyday language, is a specific observation: it's the basic material of science in its purest form. However, when it’s interpreted by a mind, it’s never truly specific, since we can't perceive anything without relating it to things we already know; we also can't describe it without using terms that suggest a categorization of what we're talking about. Still, we can think of an observation as specific when compared to a law that groups it with many others in a single general statement. Transforming an observation into an experiment, or if that's not possible, carefully repeating it with all possible precautions and precision, and detailing its duration, quantity, quality, and sequence of events, is the first step in scientific research. This is followed by the creation of an empirical law, and finally, if feasible, deriving conclusions either from previously established higher laws or from a hypothesis. However, since the word is used in different ways, we often refer to laws as 'facts': for example, when we say the law of gravitation is a fact, we mean that it’s real or can be confirmed through observations or experiments.
§ 2. Secondary Laws may also be classified according to their constancy into—(1) the Invariable (as far as experience reaches), and (2) Approximate Generalisations in the form—Most X's are Y. Of the invariable we have given examples above. The following are approximate generalisations: Most comets go round the Sun from East to West; Most metals are solid at ordinary temperatures; Most marsupials are Australasian; Most arctic animals are white in winter; Most cases of plague are fatal; Most men think first of their own interests. Some of these laws are empirical, as that 'Most metals are solid at ordinary temperatures': at present no reason can be given for this; nor do we know why most cases of plague are fatal. Others, however, are at least partially derivative, as that 'Most arctic animals are white'; for this seems to be due to the advantage of concealment in the snow; whether, as with the bear, the better to surprise its prey, or, with the hare, to escape the notice of its enemies.
§ 2. Secondary Laws can also be categorized by their consistency into—(1) the Invariable (as far as we can tell from experience), and (2) Approximate Generalizations in the form—Most X's are Y. We've provided examples of the invariable above. Here are some approximate generalizations: Most comets orbit the Sun from East to West; Most metals are solid at normal temperatures; Most marsupials are from Australia; Most arctic animals are white in winter; Most cases of plague are fatal; Most men prioritize their own interests. Some of these laws are based on observation, like 'Most metals are solid at normal temperatures': currently, there's no explanation for this; we also don't know why most cases of plague are fatal. Others, however, are at least partly explainable, like 'Most arctic animals are white'; this seems to provide an advantage for hiding in the snow, whether it's for the bear to surprise its prey or the hare to avoid being seen by predators.
But the scientific treatment of such a proposition requires that we should also explain the exceptions: if 'Most are,' this implies that 'Some are not'; why not, then? Now, if we can give reasons for all the exceptions, the approximate generalisation may be converted into an universal one, thus: 'All arctic animals are white, unless (like the raven) they need no concealment either to prey or to escape; or unless mutual recognition is more important to them than concealment (as with the musk-sheep)'. The same end of universal statement may be gained by including the conditions on which the phenomenon depends, thus: 'All arctic animals to whom concealment is of the utmost utility are white.'
But to scientifically address this idea, we also need to explain the exceptions: if 'Most are,' that means 'Some are not'; so why is that? If we can provide reasons for all the exceptions, the generalization can be turned into an absolute one: 'All arctic animals are white, unless (like the raven) they don't need to hide to hunt or escape; or unless recognizing each other is more important than hiding (as with the musk-sheep).' We can achieve the same universal statement by including the conditions that the phenomenon relies on: 'All arctic animals for whom hiding is extremely useful are white.'
When statistics are obtainable, it is proper to convert an approximate generalisation into a proportional statement of the fact, thus: instead of 'Most attacks of plague are fatal', we might find that in a certain country 70 per [Pg 293]cent. were so. Then, if we found that in another country the percentage of deaths was 60, in another 40, we might discover, in the different conditions of these countries, a clue to the high rate of mortality from this disease. Even if the proportion of cases in which two facts are connected does not amount to 'Most,' yet, if any definite percentage is obtainable, the proposition has a higher scientific value than a vague 'Some': as if we know that 2 per cent. of the deaths in England are due to suicide, this may be compared with the rates of suicide in other countries; from which perhaps inferences may be drawn as to the causes of suicide.
When statistics are available, it makes sense to turn a rough generalization into a proportional statement of the fact. For example, instead of saying, 'Most attacks of plague are fatal,' we might find that in a certain country, 70 percent were fatal. Then, if we discover that in another country the death rate was 60 percent and in another it was 40 percent, we might uncover clues to the high mortality rate from this disease based on the different conditions in these countries. Even if the connection between two facts doesn't amount to 'Most,' if we can get a specific percentage, the claim has more scientific value than the vague 'Some.' For instance, if we know that 2 percent of deaths in England are due to suicide, we can compare this with suicide rates in other countries, which might help us understand the causes of suicide.
In one department of life, namely, Politics, there is a special advantage in true approximate generalisations amounting to 'Most cases.' The citizens of any State are so various in character, enlightenment, and conditions of life, that we can expect to find few propositions universally true of them: so that propositions true of the majority must be trusted as the bases of legislation. If most men are deterred from crime by fear of punishment; if most men will idle if they can obtain support without industry; if most jurymen will refuse to convict of a crime for which the prescribed penalties seem to them too severe; these are most useful truths, though there should be numerous exceptions to them all.
In one area of life, specifically Politics, there is a unique advantage in relying on generalizations that are generally true for "Most cases." The people in any State are so diverse in their personalities, knowledge, and life circumstances that we can expect to find few statements that are universally true for everyone: therefore, we must rely on statements that are true for the majority as the foundation for creating laws. If most people are discouraged from committing crimes because they fear punishment; if most people will be lazy if they can get by without working; if most jurors will refuse to convict someone of a crime if they think the penalties are too harsh, these are very useful truths, even if there are many exceptions to all of them.
A Derivative Law will be true wherever the forces concerned exist in the combinations upon which the law depends, if there are no counteracting conditions. That water can be pumped to about 33 feet at the sea-level, is a derivative law on this planet: is it true in Mars? That depends on whether there are in Mars bodies of a liquid similar to our water; whether there is an atmosphere there, and how great its pressure is; which will vary [Pg 294]with its height and density. If there is no atmosphere there can be no pumping; or if there is an atmosphere of less pressure than ours, water such as ours can only be pumped to a less height than 33 feet. Again, we know that there are arctic regions in Mars; if there are also arctic animals, are they white? That may depend upon whether there are any beasts of prey. If not, concealment seems to be of no use.
A Derivative Law will hold true wherever the relevant forces are present in the combinations that the law relies on, as long as there are no counteracting conditions. For example, the fact that water can be pumped to about 33 feet at sea level is a derivative law on Earth; but is it true on Mars? That depends on whether Mars has bodies of liquid similar to our water, whether it has an atmosphere, and what the pressure is like, which will change with its altitude and density. If there’s no atmosphere, pumping wouldn’t be possible; or if the atmosphere has lower pressure than ours, water similar to ours can only be pumped to a height less than 33 feet. Additionally, we know there are polar regions on Mars; if there are also polar animals, are they white? That might depend on whether there are predators. If there aren’t, then camouflage doesn’t seem necessary.
An Empirical Law, being one whose conditions we do not know, the extent of its prevalence is still less ascertainable. Where it has not been actually observed to be true, we cannot trust it unless the circumstances, on the whole, resemble so closely those amongst which it has been observed, that the unknown causes, whatever they may be, are likely to prevail there. And, even then, we cannot have much confidence in it; for there may be unknown circumstances which entirely frustrate the effect. The first naturalist who travelled (say) from Singapore eastward by Sumatra and Java, or Borneo, and found the mammalia there similar to those of Asia, may naturally have expected the same thing in Celebes and Papua; but, if so, he was entirely disappointed; for in Papua the mammalia are marsupials like those of Australia. Thus his empirical law, 'The mammalia of the Eastern Archipelago are Asiatic,' would have failed for no apparent reason. According to Mr. Wallace, there is a reason for it, though such as could only be discovered by extensive researches; namely, that the sea is deep between Borneo and Celebes, so that they must have been separated for many ages; whereas it is shallow from Borneo westward to Asia, and also southward from Celebes to Australia; so that these regions, respectively, may have been recently united: and the true law is that similar mammalia belong to those tracts which at comparatively recent dates have formed parts of the same continents (unless they are the remains of a former much wider distribution).
An empirical law is one whose conditions we don’t fully understand, making it even harder to determine how widely it applies. If we haven’t actually observed it to be true, we can’t rely on it unless the overall circumstances closely resemble those where it has been observed, making it likely that the unknown factors at play will also apply. Even then, our confidence in it is low, because there could be unknown factors that completely change the outcome. For example, the first naturalist traveling from Singapore eastward through Sumatra and Java, or Borneo, might have expected to find mammals there similar to those in Asia. However, he would have been completely disappointed in Papua, where the mammals are marsupials like those in Australia. Therefore, his empirical law, "The mammals of the Eastern Archipelago are Asiatic," would have failed for no clear reason. According to Mr. Wallace, there is a reason, but it could only be uncovered through extensive research: the sea is deep between Borneo and Celebes, indicating they must have been separated for a long time. In contrast, the sea is shallow from Borneo west to Asia and south from Celebes to Australia, suggesting these regions may have been recently connected. The true law is that similar mammals belong to areas that have recently been part of the same continents, unless they are remnants of a former much wider distribution.
A considerable lapse of time may make an empirical law no longer trustworthy; for the forces from whose combination it resulted may have ceased to operate, or to operate in the same combination; and since we do not know what those forces were, even the knowledge that great changes have taken place in the meantime cannot enable us, after an interval, to judge whether or not the law still holds true. New stars shine in the sky and go out; species of plants and animals become extinct; diseases die out and fresh ones afflict mankind: all these things doubtless have their causes, but if we do not know what they are, we have no measure of the effects, and cannot tell when or where they will happen.
A significant amount of time can make an empirical law unreliable; the forces that created it may have stopped working or may no longer work together the same way. Since we don’t know what those forces were, even knowing that major changes have occurred over time can’t help us determine if the law is still valid. New stars light up the sky and fade away; species of plants and animals go extinct; diseases disappear and new ones emerge to affect humanity: all of these happenings surely have their causes, but without knowing what they are, we have no way to measure the effects or predict when or where they will occur.
Laws of Concomitant Variations may hold good only within certain limits. That bodies contract as the temperature falls, is not true of water below 39° F. In Psychology, Weber's Law is only true within the median range of sensation-intensities, not for very faint, nor for very strong, stimuli. In such cases the failure of the laws may depend upon something imperfectly understood in the collocation: as to water, on its molecular constitution; as to sensation, upon the structure of the nervous system.
Laws of Concomitant Variations may only be valid within certain limits. It’s not true that bodies contract as the temperature drops when it comes to water below 39° F. In psychology, Weber's Law is only accurate within the average range of sensation intensities, not for very weak or very strong stimuli. In these cases, the failure of the laws might depend on something that isn’t fully understood in the arrangement: for water, it's about its molecular makeup; for sensation, it's about the structure of the nervous system.
Those of Succession are either—(1) of direct causation, as that 'Water quenches fire,' or (more strictly) that 'Evaporation reduces temperature'; or (2) of the effect of a remote cause, as 'Bad harvests tend to raise the price of bread'; or (3) of the joint effects of the same cause, as that 'Night follows day' (from the revolution of the earth), or the course of the seasons (from the inclination of the earth's axis).
Those of succession are either—(1) a direct cause, like 'Water puts out fire,' or more specifically, 'Evaporation lowers temperature'; or (2) the effect of a distant cause, like 'Bad harvests usually raise the price of bread'; or (3) the combined effects of the same cause, such as 'Night follows day' (due to the Earth's rotation), or the change in seasons (because of the tilt of the Earth's axis).
Laws of Co-existence are of several classes. (1) One has the generality of a primary law, though it is proved only by Agreement, namely, 'All gravitating bodies are inert'. Others, though less general than this, are of very exten[Pg 296]sive range, as that 'All gases that are not decomposed by rise of temperature have the same rate of expansion'; and, in Botany that 'All monocotyledonous plants are endogenous'. These laws of Co-existence are concerned with fundamental properties of bodies.
Laws of Co-existence come in various categories. (1) One is a fundamental law that’s generally accepted, even though it's only validated through agreement: ‘All gravitating bodies are inert’. Others, while not as general, cover a broad scope, like ‘All gases that don’t break down with rising temperatures expand at the same rate’; and in Botany, ‘All monocotyledonous plants are endogenous’. These laws of Co-existence relate to the essential properties of physical bodies.
(2) Next come laws of the Co-existence of those properties which are comprised in the definitions of Natural Kinds. Mill distinguished between (α) classes of things that agree among themselves and differ from others only in one or a few attributes (such as 'red things,' 'musical notes', 'carnivorous animals', 'soldiers'), and (β) classes of things that agree among themselves and differ from others in a multitude of characters: and the latter he calls Natural Kinds. These comprise the chemical elements and their pure compounds (such as water, alcohol, rock-salt), and the species of plants and animals. Clearly, each of these is constituted by the co-existence or co-inherence of a multitude of properties, some of which are selected as the basis of their definitions. Thus, Gold is a metal of high specific gravity, atomic weight 197.2, high melting point, low chemical affinities, great ductility, yellow colour, etc.: a Horse has 'a vertebral column, mammæ, a placental embryo, four legs, a single well-developed toe in each foot provided with a hoof, a bushy tail, and callosities on the inner sides of both the fore and the hind legs' (Huxley).
(2) Next are the laws of how those properties exist together that are included in the definitions of Natural Kinds. Mill made a distinction between (α) groups of things that have similarities among themselves and only differ from others by one or a few characteristics (like 'red things,' 'musical notes,' 'carnivorous animals,' 'soldiers'), and (β) groups of things that share similarities and differ from others by a wide range of traits: he calls the latter Natural Kinds. These include the chemical elements and their pure compounds (like water, alcohol, rock-salt), as well as the species of plants and animals. Clearly, each of these is defined by the co-existence or mutual dependence of many properties, some of which are chosen as the foundation of their definitions. For instance, Gold is a metal with high specific gravity, atomic weight of 197.2, high melting point, low chemical reactivity, great ductility, yellow color, etc.: a Horse has 'a vertebral column, mammary glands, a placental embryo, four legs, a single well-developed toe on each foot with a hoof, a bushy tail, and callosities on the inner sides of both the fore and hind legs' (Huxley).
Since Darwinism has obtained general acceptance, some Logicians have doubted the propriety of calling the organic species 'Kinds,' on the ground that they are not, as to definiteness and permanence, on a par with the chemical elements or such compounds as water and rock-salt; that they vary extensively, and that it is only by the loss of former generations of animals that we are able to distinguish species at all. But to this it may be replied that species are often approximately constant for immense periods of time, and may be called permanent in com[Pg 297]parison with human generations; and that, although the leading principles of Logic are perhaps eternal truths, yet upon a detail such as this, the science may condescend to recognise a distinction if it is good for (say) only 100,000 years. That if former generations of plants and animals were not lost, all distinctions of species would disappear, may be true; but they are lost—for the most part beyond hope of recovery; and accordingly the distinction of species is still recognised; although there are cases, chiefly at the lower stages of organisation, in which so many varieties occur as to make adjacent species almost or quite indistinguishable. So far as species are recognised, then, they present a complex co-inherence of qualities, which is, in one aspect, a logical problem; and, in another, a logical datum; and, coming more naturally under the head of Natural Kinds than any other, they must be mentioned in this place.
Since Darwinism has gained widespread acceptance, some logicians have questioned whether it’s appropriate to refer to organic species as 'kinds.' They argue that these species lack the clarity and permanence of chemical elements or compounds like water and rock salt; they change significantly, and we can only identify species by looking back at lost generations of animals. However, it can be argued that species often remain relatively stable for extremely long periods, making them permanent compared to human generations. While the core principles of logic may be considered eternal truths, the science can still acknowledge distinctions that hold true for, say, only 100,000 years. It may be true that if previous generations of plants and animals had not been lost, all species distinctions would vanish. But in reality, most of those generations are lost beyond recovery, which is why we still recognize species. Though there are instances, particularly in simpler organisms, where so many variations exist that nearby species can become nearly indistinguishable, where species do exist, they showcase a complex interrelation of traits that presents, in one way, a logical issue and, in another, a logical fact. Thus, as they more naturally fall under the category of Natural Kinds than any other, they must be addressed here.
(3) There are, again, certain coincidences of qualities not essential to any kind, and sometimes prevailing amongst many different kinds: such as 'Insects of nauseous taste have vivid (warning) colours'; 'White tom-cats with blue eyes are deaf'; 'White spots and patches, when they appear in domestic animals, are most frequent on the left side.'
(3) There are also specific coincidences of traits that aren't essential to any type but can sometimes be seen across many different types: for example, 'Insects with unpleasant taste have bright (warning) colors'; 'White male cats with blue eyes are deaf'; 'White spots and patches, when they show up on domestic animals, are most common on the left side.'
(4) Finally, there may be constancy of relative position, as of sides and angles in Geometry; and also among concrete things (at least for long periods of time), as of the planetary orbits, the apparent positions of fixed stars in the sky, the distribution of land and water on the globe, opposite seasons in opposite hemispheres.
(4) Finally, there can be a consistent relative position, like the sides and angles in Geometry; and also among tangible things (at least for long stretches of time), such as the orbits of planets, the visible positions of fixed stars in the sky, the layout of land and water on Earth, and opposite seasons in different hemispheres.
All these cases of Co-existence (except the geometrical) present the problem of deriving them from Causation; for there is no general Law of Co-existence from which they can be derived; and, indeed, if we conceive of the external world as a perpetual redistribution of matter and energy, it follows that the whole state of Nature at any instant, [Pg 298]and therefore every co-existence included in it, is due to causation issuing from some earlier distribution of matter and energy. Hence, indeed, it is not likely that the problems of co-existence as a whole will ever be solved, since the original distribution of matter is, of course, unknown. Still, starting with any given state of Nature, we may hope to explain some of the co-existences in any subsequent state. We do not, indeed, know why heavy bodies are always inert, nor why the chemical elements are what they are; but it is known that "the properties of the elements are functions of their atomic weight," which (though, at present, only an empirical law) may be a clue to some deeper explanation. As to plants and animals, we know the conditions of their generation, and can trace a connection between most of their characteristics and the conditions of their life: as that the teeth and stomach of animals vary with their food, and that their colour generally varies with their habitat.
All these cases of co-existence (except the geometrical) raise the issue of how to derive them from causation, since there's no general law of co-existence we can depend on. In fact, if we think of the external world as a continuous reshuffling of matter and energy, it means that the entire state of nature at any given moment, [Pg 298]and every instance of co-existence within it, is a result of causation stemming from some previous arrangement of matter and energy. Therefore, it's unlikely that the overall issues of co-existence will ever be fully resolved, since the original distribution of matter is, naturally, unknown. However, starting from any specific state of nature, we can hope to explain some of the co-existences in any following state. We may not know why heavy objects are always inert or why the chemical elements are what they are, but it's understood that "the properties of the elements are functions of their atomic weight," which could be a hint toward a deeper explanation, even though it’s currently just an empirical law. Regarding plants and animals, we understand the conditions of their generation and can link many of their traits to their living conditions: for example, the teeth and stomach of animals change based on their diet, and their coloration typically varies with their environment.
Geometrical Co-existence, when it is not a matter of definition (as 'a square is a rectangle with four equal sides'), is deduced from the definitions and axioms: as when it is shown that in triangles the greater side is opposite the greater angle. The deductions of theorems or secondary laws, in Geometry is a type of what is desirable in the Physical Sciences: the demonstration, namely, that all the connections of phenomena, whether successive or co-existent, are consequences of the redistribution of matter and energy according to the principle of Causation.
Geometrical Co-existence, when not just a matter of definition (like 'a square is a rectangle with four equal sides'), is derived from definitions and axioms: for example, it is shown that in triangles the longer side is opposite the larger angle. The deductions of theorems or secondary laws in Geometry exemplify what is sought after in the Physical Sciences: specifically, the demonstration that all connections of phenomena, whether sequential or simultaneous, are results of the redistribution of matter and energy based on the principle of Causation.
Coincidences of Co-existence (Group (3)) may sometimes be deduced and sometimes not. That 'nauseous insects have vivid coloration' comes under the general law of 'protective coloration'; as they are easily recognised and therefore avoided by insectivorous birds and other animals. But why white tom-cats with blue-eyes should be deaf, is (I believe) unknown. When co-existences cannot be derived from causation, they can only [Pg 299]be proved by collecting examples and trusting vaguely to the Uniformity of Nature. If no exceptions are found, we have an empirical law of considerable probability within the range of our exploration. If exceptions occur, we have at most an approximate generalisation, as that 'Most metals are whitish,' or 'Most domestic cats are tabbies' (but this probably is the ancestral colouring). We may then resort to statistics for greater definiteness, and find that in Hampshire (say) 90 per cent. of the domestic cats are tabby.
Coincidences of Co-existence (Group (3)) can sometimes be figured out and sometimes not. The fact that 'nauseous insects have bright colors' follows the general principle of 'protective coloration'; they are easily recognized and, therefore, avoided by insect-eating birds and other animals. But why white, blue-eyed tomcats are deaf is, I believe, still a mystery. When these co-existences can’t be traced back to a cause, they can only [Pg 299]be demonstrated by gathering examples and relying somewhat on the consistency of Nature. If we find no exceptions, we arrive at an empirical law that has a decent chance of being true based on our observations. If exceptions do appear, we’re left with at most a rough generalization, like 'Most metals are whitish,' or 'Most domestic cats are tabbies' (though this is likely the original color). We can then turn to statistics for more precision and discover that in Hampshire (for instance) 90 per cent. of domestic cats are tabby.
§ 5. Scientific Explanation consists in discovering, deducing, and assimilating the laws of phenomena; it is the analysis of that Heracleitan 'flux' which so many philosophers have regarded as intractable to human inquiry. In the ordinary use of the word, 'explanation' means the satisfying a man's understanding; and what may serve this purpose depends partly upon the natural soundness of his understanding, and partly on his education; but it is always at last an appeal to the primary functions of cognition, discrimination and assimilation.
§ 5. Scientific Explanation involves discovering, deducing, and understanding the laws behind phenomena; it’s the analysis of that Heracleitan 'flux' that many philosophers have considered impossible to grasp fully. In everyday language, 'explanation' refers to making something understandable to someone, and what achieves this depends partly on the natural clarity of their understanding and partly on their education; ultimately, it always comes down to the basic functions of cognition, discrimination, and assimilation.
Generally, what we are accustomed to seems to need no explanation, unless our curiosity is particularly directed to it. That boys climb trees and throw stones, and that men go fox-hunting, may easily pass for matters of course. If any one is so exacting as to ask the reason, there is a ready answer in the 'need of exercise.' But this will not explain the peculiar zest of those exercises, which is something quite different from our feelings whilst swinging dumb-bells or tramping the highway. Others, more sophisticated, tell us that the civilised individual retains in his nature the instincts of his remote ancestors, and that these assert themselves at stages of his growth corresponding with ancestral periods of culture or savagery: so that if we delight to climb trees, throw stones, and hunt, it is because our forefathers once lived in trees, had no missiles but stones, and depended for a livelihood [Pg 300]upon killing something. To some of us, again, this seems an explanation; to others it merely gives annoyance, as a superfluous hypothesis, the fruit of a wanton imagination and too much leisure.
Generally, what we’re used to doesn’t seem to need an explanation, unless we’re particularly curious about it. The fact that boys climb trees and throw stones, and that men go fox-hunting, easily passes as normal. If someone is demanding enough to ask why, the common answer is the "need for exercise." But this doesn’t explain the unique thrill of those activities, which is completely different from how we feel while lifting weights or walking along the road. Others, who are more analytical, suggest that a civilized person still possesses the instincts of their distant ancestors, and these instincts emerge at stages of development that correspond to ancient cultural or wild periods: so if we enjoy climbing trees, throwing stones, and hunting, it’s because our ancestors once lived in trees, only had stones as tools, and relied on killing for survival. For some of us, that feels like an explanation; for others, it just seems annoying, like an unnecessary theory born from a wild imagination and too much free time. [Pg 300]
However, what we are not accustomed to immediately excites curiosity. If it were exceptional to climb trees, throw stones, ride after foxes, whoever did such things would be viewed with suspicion. An eclipse, a shooting star, a solitary boulder on the heath, a strange animal, or a Chinaman in the street, calls for explanation; and among some nations, eclipses have been explained by supposing a dragon to devour the sun or moon; solitary boulders, as the missiles of a giant; and so on. Such explanations, plainly, are attempts to regard rare phenomena as similar to others that are better known; a snake having been seen to swallow a rabbit, a bigger one may swallow the sun: a giant is supposed to bear much the same relation to a boulder as a boy does to half a brick. When any very common thing seems to need no explanation, it is because the several instances of its occurrence are a sufficient basis of assimilation to satisfy most of us. Still, if a reason for such a thing be demanded, the commonest answer has the same implication, namely, that assimilation or classification is a sufficient reason for it. Thus, if climbing trees is referred to the need of exercise, it is assimilated to running, rowing, etc.; if the customs of a savage tribe are referred to the command of its gods, they are assimilated to those things that are done at the command of chieftains.
However, what we're not used to immediately sparks curiosity. If climbing trees, throwing stones, or chasing after foxes were rare activities, anyone who did those things would be seen with suspicion. An eclipse, a shooting star, a lone boulder on open land, a weird animal, or a Chinese person walking down the street all need an explanation; in some cultures, eclipses have been explained by imagining a dragon swallowing the sun or moon; solitary boulders are believed to be the thrown rocks of a giant, and so on. Clearly, these explanations are attempts to relate unusual phenomena to more familiar ones; if a snake can swallow a rabbit, then a larger one might swallow the sun: a giant is thought to relate to a boulder much like a boy does to half a brick. When something very common seems to need no explanation, it's because the multiple times it occurs provide enough familiarity to satisfy most of us. Still, if someone asks why such things happen, the most common response suggests that categorizing or classifying is a good enough reason. So, if tree climbing is linked to the need for exercise, it's grouped with running, rowing, etc.; if a primitive tribe's customs are linked to their gods' commands, they’re compared to things done at the orders of leaders.
Explanation, then, is a kind of classification; it is the finding of resemblance between the phenomenon in question and other phenomena. In Mathematics, the explanation of a theorem is the same as its proof, and consists in showing that it repeats, under different conditions, the definitions and axioms already assumed and the theorems already demonstrated. In Logic, the major [Pg 301]premise of every syllogism is an explanation of the conclusion; for the minor premise asserts that the conclusion is an example of the major premise.
Explanation is basically a way to classify things; it involves finding similarities between the phenomenon in question and other phenomena. In Mathematics, explaining a theorem is the same as proving it; both show that it reflects, under different conditions, the definitions, axioms, and previously demonstrated theorems. In Logic, the major [Pg 301]premise of every syllogism explains the conclusion because the minor premise indicates that the conclusion is an instance of the major premise.
In Concrete Sciences, to discover the cause of a phenomenon, or to derive an empirical law from laws of causation, is to explain it; because a cause is an invariable antecedent, and therefore reminds us of, or enables us to conceive, an indefinite number of cases similar to the present one wherever the cause exists. It classifies the present case with other instances of causation, or brings it under the universal law; and, as we have seen that the discovery of the laws of nature is essentially the discovery of causes, the discovery and derivation of laws is scientific explanation.
In Concrete Sciences, figuring out why something happens or deriving an empirical law from cause-and-effect relationships is what it means to explain it. This is because a cause is a consistent factor that allows us to think about countless similar situations wherever that cause is present. It places the current situation alongside other examples of causation or fits it into a universal law. Since we’ve established that finding the laws of nature really means uncovering their causes, developing and deriving these laws is what constitutes scientific explanation.
The discovery of quantitative laws is especially satisfactory, because it not only explains why an event happens at all, but why it happens just in this direction, degree, or amount; and not only is the given relation of cause and effect definitely assimilated to other causal instances, but the effect is identified with the cause as the same matter and energy redistributed; wherefore, whether the conservation of matter and energy be universally true or not, it must still be an universal postulate of scientific explanation.
The discovery of quantitative laws is particularly rewarding because it not only explains why an event occurs, but also why it happens in this specific direction, degree, or amount. Additionally, the relationship of cause and effect is clearly connected to other causal instances, and the effect is recognized as the same matter and energy being redistributed as the cause. Therefore, whether or not the conservation of matter and energy is universally true, it must still be a fundamental principle in scientific explanations.
The mere discovery of an empirical law of co-existence, as that 'white tom-cats with blue eyes are deaf', is indeed something better than an isolated fact: every general proposition relieves the mind of a load of facts; and, for many people, to be able to say—'It is always so'—may be enough; but for scientific explanation we require to know the reason of it, that is, the cause. Still, if asked to explain an axiom, we can only say, 'It is always so:' though it is some relief to point out particular instances of its realisation, or to exhibit the similarity of its form to that of other axioms—as of the Dictum to the axiom of equality.
The simple discovery of an empirical law of co-existence, like 'white tom-cats with blue eyes are deaf,' is definitely more than just an isolated fact: every general statement lightens the burden of facts for our minds; and for many people, just being able to say—'It’s always like that'—might be enough; but for a scientific explanation, we need to understand the reason behind it, that is, the cause. Still, if we're asked to explain an axiom, we can only say, 'It’s always like that': although it helps to point out specific examples of its occurrence, or to show the similarity of its structure to that of other axioms—like the Dictum to the axiom of equality.
The pumping of water implies (1) pressure of the air, (2) distribution of pressure in a liquid, (3) that motion takes the direction of least resistance. Similarly, that thunder follows forked lightning, and that the report of a gun follows the flash, are resolvable into (1) the discharge of electricity, or the explosion of gunpowder; (2) distance of the observer from the event; (3) that light travels faster than sound. The planetary orbits are analysable into the tendency of planets to fall into the sun, and their tendency to travel in a straight line. When this conception is helped out by swinging a ball round by a string, and then letting it go, to show what would happen to the earth if gravitation ceased, we see how the recognition of resemblance lies at the bottom of explanation.
The pumping of water involves (1) air pressure, (2) how pressure is distributed in a liquid, and (3) the idea that motion follows the path of least resistance. Likewise, the fact that thunder follows lightning and that the sound of a gun follows the flash can be broken down into (1) the release of electricity or the explosion of gunpowder; (2) the observer's distance from the event; (3) the speed of light being faster than sound. The paths of the planets can be understood by looking at their tendency to fall toward the sun and their desire to move in a straight line. When this idea is demonstrated by swinging a ball on a string and then letting it go, showing what would happen to the earth if gravity stopped, we realize that understanding resemblances is essential for explanation.
Secondly, the discovery of steps of causation between a cause and its remote effects; the interpolation and concatenation of causes.
Secondly, the discovery of the links between a cause and its distant effects; the connection and sequence of causes.
The maxim 'No cats no clover' is explained by assigning the intermediate steps in the following series; that the fructification of red clover depends on the visits of humble-bees, who distribute the pollen in seeking honey; that if field-mice are numerous they destroy the humble-bees' nests; and that (owls and weasels being exterminated by gamekeepers) the destruction of field-mice depends upon the supply of cats; which, therefore, are a remote condition of the clover crop. Again, the communication of thought by speech is an example of something so common that it seems to need no explanation; yet to explain it is a long story. A thought in one man's mind is the remote cause of a similar thought in another's: here we have (1) a thought associated with mental words; (2) a connection between these thoughts and some tracts of the brain; (3) a connection between these tracts of [Pg 303]the brain and the muscles of the larynx, the tongue and the lips; (4) movements of the chest, larynx and mouth, propelling and modifying waves of air; (5) the impinging of these air-waves upon another man's ear, and by a complex mechanism exciting the aural nerve; (6) the transfer of this excitation to certain tracts of his brain; (7) a connection there with sounds of words and their associated thoughts. If one of these links fail, there is no communication.
The saying 'No cats, no clover' can be clarified by breaking down the intermediate steps in this process: the pollination of red clover relies on humble-bees, which spread the pollen while searching for nectar; if there are many field-mice, they end up destroying the humble-bees' nests; and since gamekeepers have wiped out owls and weasels, the population of field-mice is dependent on having enough cats, which makes cats a distant factor in the clover crop. Similarly, communicating thoughts through speech is something so familiar that it hardly seems to require explanation; yet explaining it is quite a task. A thought in one person’s mind triggers a similar thought in another: here we have (1) a thought linked with mental words; (2) a connection between these thoughts and specific areas of the brain; (3) a link between those brain areas and the muscles of the larynx, tongue, and lips; (4) movements of the chest, larynx, and mouth that create and alter airwaves; (5) these airwaves hitting another person's ear, which stimulates the auditory nerve through a complex mechanism; (6) the transfer of this stimulation to certain regions in their brain; (7) a connection there with the sounds of words and their related thoughts. If any of these links fail, communication does not happen.
Thirdly, the subsumption of several laws under one more general expression.
Thirdly, the inclusion of several laws under a broader term.
The tendency of bodies to fall to the earth and the tendency of the earth itself (with the other planets) to fall into the sun, are subsumed under the general law that 'All matter gravitates.' The same law subsumes the movements of the tide. By means of the notion of specific gravity, it includes 'levitation,' or the actual rising of some bodies, as of corks in water, of balloons, or flames in the air: the fact being that these things do not tend to rise, but to fall like everything else; only as the water or air weighs more in proportion to its volume than corks or balloons, the latter are pushed up.
The tendency of objects to fall to the ground and the earth (along with other planets) to fall toward the sun are covered by the general law that "Everything has gravity." This same law also explains the movement of tides. Through the concept of specific gravity, it includes "levitation," which is the actual rising of some objects, like corks in water, balloons, or flames in the air. The reality is that these objects don't want to rise; they want to fall like everything else. However, since water or air is heavier relative to its volume than corks or balloons, those lighter objects get pushed up.
This process of subsumption bears the same relation to secondary laws, that these do to particular facts. The generalisation of many particular facts (that is, a statement of that in which they agree) is a law; and the generalisation of these laws (that is, again, a statement of that in which they agree) is a higher law; and this process, upwards or downwards, is characteristic of scientific progress. The perfecting of any science consists in comprehending more and more of the facts within its province, and in showing that they all exemplify a smaller and smaller number of principles, which express their most profound resemblances.
This process of subsuming relates to secondary laws in the same way that secondary laws relate to specific facts. The generalization of many specific facts (meaning a summary of what they have in common) is a law; and the generalization of these laws (again, a summary of what they have in common) is a higher law. This process, whether moving up or down, is a hallmark of scientific advancement. The advancement of any science relies on understanding more and more facts within its domain and demonstrating that they all reflect an increasingly smaller number of principles that showcase their deepest similarities.
These three modes of explanation (analysis, interpolation, subsumption) all consist in generalising or assimilating the [Pg 304]phenomena. The pressure of the air, of a liquid, and motion in the direction of least resistance, are all commoner facts than pumping; that light travels faster than sound is a commoner fact than a thunderstorm or gun-firing. Each of the laws—'Cats kill mice,' 'Mice destroy humble-bees' nests,' 'Humble-bees fructify red clover'—is wider and expresses the resemblance of more numerous cases than the law that 'Clover depends on cats'; because each of them is less subject to further conditions. Similarly, every step in the communication of thought by language is less conditional, and therefore more general, than the completion of the process.
These three ways of explaining things (analysis, interpolation, subsumption) all involve generalizing or assimilating the [Pg 304]phenomena. The pressure of air, a liquid, and motion towards the path of least resistance are more common facts than pumping; that light travels faster than sound is a more common fact than a thunderstorm or a gunshot. Each of the laws—'Cats kill mice,' 'Mice destroy humble-bees' nests,' 'Humble-bees fertilize red clover'—is broader and reflects the similarity of more cases than the law that 'Clover relies on cats'; because each of them is less affected by additional conditions. Similarly, every step in the communication of thoughts through language is less conditional and therefore more general than the completion of the process.
In all the above cases, again, each law into which the phenomenon (whether pumping or conversation) is resolved, suggests a host of parallel cases: as the modifying of air-waves by the larynx and lips suggests the various devices by which the strings and orifices of musical instruments modify the character of notes.
In all the cases mentioned above, each law related to the phenomenon (whether it's pumping or conversation) points to many similar situations: just as the way air waves are altered by the larynx and lips suggests the different techniques that strings and openings in musical instruments use to change the quality of notes.
Subsumption consists entirely in proving the existence of an essential similarity between things where it was formerly not observed: as that the gyrations of the moon, the fall of apples, and the flotation of bubbles are all examples of gravitation: or that the purifying of the blood by breathing, the burning of a candle, and the rusting of iron are all cases of oxidation: or that the colouring of the underside of a red-admiral's wings, the spots of the giraffe, the shape and attitude of a stick-caterpillar, the immobility of a bird on its nest, and countless other cases, though superficially so different, agree in this, that they conceal and thereby protect the organism.
Subsumption is all about demonstrating that there is an essential similarity between things where it wasn't seen before: like how the movements of the moon, the falling of apples, and the floating of bubbles are all examples of gravity; or how purifying blood through breathing, the burning of a candle, and the rusting of iron are all forms of oxidation; or how the coloring on the underside of a red-admiral butterfly's wings, the spots on a giraffe, the shape and position of a stick caterpillar, the stillness of a bird on its nest, and many other cases, despite appearing so different on the surface, all share the fact that they conceal and thus protect the organism.
Not any sort of likeness, however, suffices for scientific explanation: the only satisfactory explanation of concrete things or events, is to discover their likeness to others in respect of Causation. Hence attempts to help the understanding by familiar comparisons are often worse than useless. Any of the above examples will show that the [Pg 305]first result of explanation is not to make a phenomenon seem familiar, but to put (as the saying is) 'quite a new face upon it.' When, indeed, we have thought it over in all its newly discovered relations, we feel more at home with it than ever; and this is one source of our satisfaction in explaining things; and hence to substitute immediate familiarisation for radical explanation, is the easily besetting sin of human understanding: the most plausible of fallacies, the most attractive, the most difficult to avoid even when we are on our guard against it.
No kind of similarity, however, is enough for scientific explanation: the only satisfactory way to explain concrete things or events is to discover their relation to others in terms of causation. Therefore, attempts to clarify understanding through familiar comparisons are often more detrimental than helpful. Any of the examples above will show that the [Pg 305]first result of explanation is not to make a phenomenon feel familiar, but to give it 'a completely new perspective.' Indeed, when we have thought it over in all its new relationships, we feel more comfortable with it than ever; and this is one source of our satisfaction in explaining things. Thus, substituting immediate familiarity for deep explanation is the common pitfall of human understanding: the most convincing of fallacies, the most appealing, and the hardest to avoid even when we are trying to be cautious.
§ 7. The explanation of Nature (if it be admitted to consist in generalisation, or the discovery of resemblance amidst differences) can never be completed. For—(1) there are (as Mill says) facts, namely, fundamental states or processes of consciousness, which are distinct; in other words, they do not resemble one another, and therefore cannot be generalised or subsumed under one explanation. Colour, heat, smell, sound, touch, pleasure and pain, are so different that there is one group of conditions to be sought for each; and the laws of these conditions cannot be subsumed under a more general one without leaving out the very facts to be explained. A general condition of sensation, such as the stimulating of the sensory organs of a living animal, gives no account of the special characters of colour, smell, etc.; which are, however, the phenomena in question; and each of them has its own law. Nay, each distinct sensation-quality, or degree, must have its own law; for in each ultimate difference there is something that cannot be assimilated. Such differences amount, according to experimental Psychologists, to more than 50,000. Moreover, a neural process can never explain a conscious process in the way of cause and effect; for there is no equivalence between them, and one can never absorb the other.
§ 7. Understanding nature (if we accept it involves generalization or finding similarities among differences) can never be fully realized. For—(1) there are (as Mill points out) distinct facts, namely, fundamental states or processes of consciousness, which do not resemble each other and therefore cannot be generalized or explained under a single framework. Colors, heat, smell, sound, touch, pleasure, and pain are all so different that we need to look for a unique set of conditions for each; the laws governing these conditions cannot be grouped under a broader law without omitting the specific facts that need explanation. A general condition of sensation, like stimulating the sensory organs of a living being, doesn’t clarify the specific characteristics of color, smell, etc.; yet these are the phenomena we need to address, and each one has its own law. In fact, each distinct sensation quality or degree must have its own law; because within each ultimate difference, there’s something that cannot be combined. According to experimental psychologists, these differences total over 50,000. Furthermore, a neural process can never adequately explain a conscious process in terms of cause and effect; because there’s no equivalence between the two, and one cannot encompass the other.
(2) When physical science is treated objectively (that is, with as little reference as possible to the fact that all [Pg 306]phenomena are only known in relation to the human mind), colour, heat, smell, sound (considered as sensations) are neglected, and attention is fixed upon certain of their conditions: extension, figure, resistance, weight, motion, with their derivatives, density, elasticity, etc. These are called the Primary Qualities of Matter; and it is assumed that they belong to matter by itself, whether we look on or not: whilst colour, heat, sound, etc., are called Secondary Qualities, as depending entirely upon the reaction of some conscious animal. By physical science the world is considered in the abstract, as a perpetual redistribution of matter and energy, and the distracting multiplicity of sensations seems to be got rid of.
(2) When physical science is studied objectively (meaning with minimal reference to the fact that all [Pg 306]phenomena are only understood in relation to the human mind), aspects like color, heat, smell, and sound (seen as sensations) are overlooked, and focus is placed on certain conditions: size, shape, resistance, weight, motion, along with their derivatives, such as density and elasticity, etc. These are known as the Primary Qualities of Matter; it is assumed that they exist in matter independently of us observing them. In contrast, color, heat, sound, etc. are referred to as Secondary Qualities since they entirely depend on the perception of a conscious being. Through physical science, the world is viewed in an abstract way, as a constant redistribution of matter and energy, seemingly removing the distracting variety of sensations.
But, not to dwell upon the difficulty of reducing the activities of life and chemistry to mechanical principles—even if this were done, complete explanation could not be attained. For—(a) as explanation is the discovery of causes, we no sooner succeed in assigning the causes of the present state of the world than we have to inquire into the causes of those causes, and again the still earlier causes, and so on to infinity. But, this being impossible, we must be content, wherever we stop, to contemplate the uncaused, that is, the unexplained; and then all that follows is only relatively explained.
But let's not get stuck on the challenge of simplifying the activities of life and chemistry to mechanical principles— even if we did that, we still couldn't achieve complete understanding. Because, as explanation is about uncovering causes, as soon as we identify the causes of our current world, we end up having to explore the causes of those causes, and then go back to the even earlier causes, and so on endlessly. Since this isn't possible, we have to be okay with stopping at some point and accepting the uncaused, which means the unexplained; and everything that follows will only be relatively explained.
Besides this difficulty, however, there is another that prevents the perfecting of any theory of the abstract material world, namely (b), that it involves more than one first principle. For we have seen that the Uniformity of Nature is not really a principle, but a merely nominal generalisation, since it cannot be definitely stated; and, therefore, the principles of Contradiction, Mediate Equality, and Causation remain incapable of subsumption; nor can any one of them be reduced to another: so that they remain unexplained.
Besides this difficulty, there’s another that stops us from fully developing any theory of the abstract material world, namely (b), that it involves more than one first principle. We’ve seen that the Uniformity of Nature isn’t really a principle, but just a nominal generalization, since it can’t be clearly defined; therefore, the principles of Contradiction, Mediate Equality, and Causation cannot be neatly categorized; nor can any one of them be boiled down to another: so they remain unexplained.
(3) Another limit to explanation lies in the infinite character of every particular fact; so that we may know [Pg 307]the laws of many of its properties and yet come far short of understanding it as a whole. A lump of sandstone in the road: we may know a good deal about its specific gravity, temperature, chemical composition, geological conditions; but if we inquire the causes of the particular modifications it exhibits of these properties, and further why it is just so big, containing so many molecules, neither more nor less, disposed in just such relations to one another as to give it this particular figure, why it lies exactly there rather than a yard off, and so forth, we shall get no explanation of all this. The causes determining each particular phenomenon are infinite, and can never be computed; and, therefore, it can never be fully explained.
(3) Another limitation to explanation comes from the infinite nature of every specific fact; we may understand [Pg 307]the laws governing many of its properties, but still not grasp it as a whole. Take a lump of sandstone in the road: we might know quite a bit about its specific gravity, temperature, chemical makeup, and geological background; but if we ask about the reasons behind its specific variations of these properties, or why it is exactly this size with a specific number of molecules—neither more nor less—arranged in particular ways to give it this shape, or why it’s located exactly there instead of a yard away, we won't find answers to any of these questions. The causes behind each particular phenomenon are infinite and can never be fully accounted for; therefore, it can never be completely explained.
§ 8. Analogy is used in two senses: (1) for the resemblance of relations between terms that have little or no resemblance—as The wind drives the clouds as a shepherd drives his sheep—where wind and shepherd, clouds and sheep are totally unlike. Such analogies are a favourite figure in poetry and rhetoric, but cannot prove anything. For valid reasoning there must be parallel cases, according to substance and attribute, or cause and effect, or proportion: e.g. As cattle and deer are to herbivorousness, so are camels; As bodies near the earth fall toward it, so does the moon; As 2 is to 3 so is 4 to 6.
§ 8. Analogy is used in two ways: (1) for the similarity of relationships between terms that have little or no actual resemblance—like The wind drives the clouds just as a shepherd drives his sheep—where wind and shepherd, and clouds and sheep are completely different. Such analogies are a popular figure in poetry and rhetoric, but they can't prove anything. For reasoning to be valid, there must be parallel cases based on substance and attribute, or cause and effect, or proportion: e.g. Just as cattle and deer are herbivores, so are camels; Just as objects near the earth fall toward it, so does the moon; Just as 2 is to 3, so is 4 to 6.
(2) Analogy is discussed in Logic as a kind of probable proof based upon imperfect similarity (as the best that can be discovered) between the data of comparison and the subject of our inference. Like Deduction and Induction, it assumes that things which are alike in some respects are also alike in others; but it differs from them in not appealing to a definite general law assigning the essential points of resemblance upon which the argument relies. In Deductive proof, this is done by the major premise of every syllogism: if the major says that 'All fat men are humorists,' and we can establish the minor, 'X is a fat man,' we have secured the essential [Pg 308]resemblance that carries the conclusion. In induction, the Law of Causation and its representatives, the Canons, serve the same purpose, specifying the essential marks of a cause. But, in Analogy, the resemblance relied on cannot be stated categorically.
(2) Analogy is talked about in Logic as a type of likely proof based on imperfect similarities (as the best that can be found) between the data we’re comparing and the subject of our reasoning. Like Deduction and Induction, it assumes that things that are similar in some ways are also similar in other ways; however, it’s different because it doesn’t refer to a specific general law that defines the key points of similarity the argument depends on. In Deductive proof, this is established through the major premise of every syllogism: if the major states that 'All fat men are humorists,' and we can prove the minor, 'X is a fat man,' we have secured the essential [Pg 308]similarity that leads to the conclusion. In Induction, the Law of Causation and its representatives, the Canons, fulfill the same role, identifying the key features of a cause. But in Analogy, the similarity we depend on cannot be clearly stated.
If we argue that Mars is inhabited because it resembles the datum, our Earth, (1) in being a planet, (2) neither too hot nor too cold for life, (3) having an atmosphere, (4) land and water, etc., we are not prepared to say that 'All planets having these characteristics are inhabited.' It is, therefore, not a deduction; and since we do not know the original causes of life on the Earth, we certainly cannot show by induction that adequate causes exist in Mars. We rely, then, upon some such vague notion of Uniformity as that 'Things alike in some points are alike in others'; which, plainly, is either false or nugatory. But if the linear markings upon the surface of Mars indicate a system of canals, the inference that he has intelligent inhabitants is no longer analogical, since canals can have no other cause.
If we argue that Mars is inhabited because it resembles Earth in some ways—(1) being a planet, (2) having a temperature range suitable for life, (3) having an atmosphere, (4) having land and water, etc.—we can't conclude that 'All planets with these characteristics are inhabited.' Therefore, it’s not a deduction; and since we don’t know the original causes of life on Earth, we can’t prove through induction that there are adequate causes for life on Mars. We’re relying on a vague idea of Uniformity, like 'Things that are similar in some ways are similar in others,' which is either incorrect or meaningless. However, if the linear markings on the surface of Mars indicate a system of canals, then the conclusion that it has intelligent inhabitants is no longer just an analogy, since canals can only be created by intelligent beings.
The cogency of any proof depends upon the character and definiteness of the likeness which one phenomenon bears to another; but Analogy trusts to the general quantity of likeness between them, in ignorance of what may be the really important likeness. If, having tried with a stone, an apple, a bullet, etc., we find that they all break an ordinary window, and thence infer that a cricket ball will do so, we do not reason by analogy, but make instinctively a deductive extension of an induction, merely omitting the explicit generalisation, 'All missiles of a certain weight, size and solidity break windows.' But if, knowing nothing of snakes except that the viper is venomous, a child runs away from a grass-snake, he argues by analogy; and, though his conduct is prudentially justifiable, his inference is wrong: for there is no law that 'All snakes are venomous,' but only that those are [Pg 309]venomous that have a certain structure of fang; a point which he did not stay to examine.
The strength of any proof relies on the nature and clarity of the similarity between two phenomena; but Analogy depends on the general degree of similarity between them, overlooking what might be the truly significant similarity. If we test a stone, an apple, a bullet, etc., and find that they all break a regular window, and from that assume that a cricket ball will do the same, we aren’t reasoning by analogy, but rather making an instinctive deductive extension of an induction, simply skipping the explicit generalization, 'All projectiles of a certain weight, size, and solidity break windows.' However, if a child, knowing only that the viper is poisonous, runs away from a grass-snake, they are reasoning by analogy; and while their behavior is understandably cautious, their conclusion is incorrect: because there is no rule that says 'All snakes are poisonous,' but only that those are [Pg 309]poisonous that have a specific fang structure; a detail that the child did not take the time to investigate.
The discovery of an analogy, then, may suggest hypotheses; it states a problem—to find the causes of the analogy; and thus it may lead to scientific proof; but merely analogical argument is only probable in various degrees. (1) The greater the number and importance of the points of agreement, the more probable is the inference. (2) The greater the number and importance of the points of difference, the less probable is the inference. (3) The greater the number of unknown properties in the subject of our argument, the less the value of any inference from those that we do know. Of course the number of unknown properties can itself be estimated only by analogy. In the case of Mars, they are probably very numerous; and, apart from the evidence of canals, the prevalent assumption that there are intelligent beings in that planet, seems to rest less upon probability than on a curiously imaginative extension of the gregarious sentiment, the chilly discomfort of mankind at the thought of being alone in the universe, and a hope that there may be conversable and 'clubable' souls nearer than the Dog-star.
The discovery of an analogy can suggest hypotheses; it identifies a problem—to uncover the causes of the analogy; and so it might lead to scientific proof; however, purely analogical argument is only probable to varying degrees. (1) The more numerous and significant the points of agreement, the more likely the inference. (2) The more numerous and significant the points of difference, the less likely the inference. (3) The greater the number of unknown properties in the subject of our discussion, the less value any inference drawn from the known properties holds. Naturally, the number of unknown properties can only be estimated through analogy. In the case of Mars, they are likely very numerous; and aside from the evidence of canals, the common belief that there are intelligent beings on that planet seems to rely less on probability than on a strangely imaginative extension of the human tendency to form social bonds, the uncomfortable notion of being alone in the universe, and a hope that there may be talkative and sociable beings closer than the Dog Star.
CHAPTER XX
PROBABILITY
§ 1. Chance was once believed to be a distinct power in the world, disturbing the regularity of Nature; though, according to Aristotle, it was only operative in occurrences below the sphere of the moon. As, however, it is now admitted that every event in the world is due to some cause, if we can only trace the connection, whilst nevertheless the notion of Chance is still useful when rightly conceived, we have to find some other ground for it than that of a spontaneous capricious force inherent in things. For such a conception can have no place in any logical interpretation of Nature: it can never be inferred from a principle, seeing that every principle expresses an uniformity; nor, again, if the existence of a capricious power be granted, can any inference be drawn from it. Impossible alike as premise and as conclusion, for Reason it is nothing at all.
§ 1. Chance used to be thought of as a separate force in the world, disrupting the natural order; however, Aristotle believed it only affected events below the moon. Now, we recognize that every event in the world has a cause if we can just trace the connection. Yet, the idea of Chance remains useful when understood correctly. We need to find a foundation for it that isn't just a random, unpredictable force within things. Such a view doesn’t fit into any logical understanding of Nature: it can't be derived from a principle because every principle represents consistency; and even if we accept the existence of a random force, we can't deduce anything from it. It's impossible as both a starting point and an outcome; to Reason, it means nothing at all.
Every event is a result of causes: but the multitude of forces and the variety of collocations being immeasurably great, the overwhelming majority of events occurring about the same time are only related by Causation so remotely that the connection cannot be followed. Whilst my pen moves along the paper, a cab rattles down the street, bells in the neighbouring steeple chime the quarter, a girl in the next house is practising her scales, and throughout the world innumerable events are happening which may never happen together again; so that should one of [Pg 311]them recur, we have no reason to expect any of the others. This is Chance, or chance coincidence. The word Coincidence is vulgarly used only for the inexplicable concurrence of interesting events—"quite a coincidence!"
Every event comes from various causes, but since the number of forces and their combinations is incredibly vast, most events happening at the same time are only connected by causation in such a distant way that it’s hard to trace the link. While my pen moves across the page, a cab clatters down the street, bells in the nearby church tower ring the quarter hour, a girl in the next house is practicing her scales, and all around the world countless events are taking place that may never occur together again. Therefore, if one of those events happens again, we can't expect any of the others to happen too. This is Chance, or chance coincidence. The term Coincidence is commonly used only to refer to the curious alignment of interesting events—"what a coincidence!"
On the other hand, many things are now happening together or coinciding, that will do so, for assignable reasons, again and again; thousands of men are leaving the City, who leave at the same hour five days a week. But this is not chance; it is causal coincidence due to the custom of business in this country, as determined by our latitude and longitude and other circumstances. No doubt the above chance coincidences—writing, cab-rattling, chimes, scales, etc.—are causally connected at some point of past time. They were predetermined by the condition of the world ten minutes ago; and that was due to earlier conditions, one behind the other, even to the formation of the planet. But whatever connection there may have been, we have no such knowledge of it as to be able to deduce the coincidence, or calculate its recurrence. Hence Chance is defined by Mill to be: Coincidence giving no ground to infer uniformity.
On the other hand, many things are happening at the same time or overlapping, and they'll continue to do so for specific reasons, over and over; thousands of people are leaving the City at the same time five days a week. But this isn't random; it's a causal coincidence due to the business customs in this country, influenced by our latitude and longitude and other factors. No doubt the aforementioned coincidences—writing, cab noise, church bells, scales, etc.—are causally linked at some point in the past. They were set in motion by the state of the world ten minutes ago, which was shaped by earlier conditions, one after another, all the way back to the formation of the planet. But whatever connections there may have been, we don’t have enough knowledge to deduce the coincidence or predict when it will happen again. Therefore, Chance is defined by Mill as: Coincidence providing no basis to infer uniformity.
Still, some chance coincidences do recur according to laws of their own: I say some, but it may be all. If the world is finite, the possible combinations of its elements are exhaustible; and, in time, whatever conditions of the world have concurred will concur again, and in the same relation to former conditions. This writing, that cab, those chimes, those scales will coincide again; the Argonautic expedition, and the Trojan war, and all our other troubles will be renewed. But let us consider some more manageable instance, such as the throwing of dice. Every one who has played much with dice knows that double sixes are sometimes thrown, and sometimes double aces. Such coincidences do not happen once and only once; they occur again and again, and a great number of trials will show that, though their recurrence has not the regu[Pg 312]larity of cause and effect, it yet has a law of its own, namely—a tendency to average regularity. In 10,000 throws there will be some number of double sixes; and the greater the number of throws the more closely will the average recurrence of double sixes, or double aces, approximate to one in thirty-six. Such a law of average recurrence is the basis of Probability. Chance being the fact of coincidence without assignable cause, Probability is expectation based on the average frequency of its happening.
Some coincidences do happen again according to their own rules: I say some, but it might be all. If the world is finite, the possible combinations of its elements are limited; eventually, all the conditions that have occurred will happen again, and in the same relation to previous conditions. This writing, that cab, those chimes, those scales will happen again; the Argonaut expedition, the Trojan war, and all our other troubles will be repeated. But let's look at a more manageable example, like rolling dice. Anyone who has played a lot with dice knows that double sixes are sometimes rolled, and sometimes double aces. These coincidences don't just happen once; they happen again and again, and after a lot of trials, it becomes clear that, although their recurrence isn't as regular as cause and effect, it does follow its own law, which is a tendency towards average regularity. In 10,000 rolls, there will be a certain number of double sixes, and the more rolls there are, the closer the average frequency of double sixes or double aces will be to one in thirty-six. This law of average recurrence is the foundation of Probability. Chance is the occurrence of a coincidence without an identifiable cause, while Probability is the expectation based on the average frequency of that occurrence.
§ 2. Probability is an ambiguous term. Usually, when we say that an event is 'probable,' we mean that it is more likely than not to happen. But, scientifically, an event is probable if our expectation of its occurrence is less than certainty, as long as the event is not impossible. Probability, thus conceived, is represented by a fraction. Taking 1 to stand for certainty, and 0 for impossibility, probability may be 999/1000, or 1/1000, or (generally) 1/m. The denominator represents the number of times that an event happens, and the numerator the number of times that it coincides with another event. In throwing a die, the probability of ace turning up is expressed by putting the number of throws for the denominator and the number of times that ace is thrown for the numerator; and we may assume that the more trials we make the nearer will the resulting fraction approximate to 1/6.
§ 2. Probability is a vague term. Typically, when we say that an event is 'probable,' we mean that it's more likely to happen than not. However, scientifically speaking, an event is considered probable if we expect it to happen, but not with complete certainty, as long as the event isn’t impossible. Probability, understood in this way, is represented as a fraction. With 1 representing certainty and 0 representing impossibility, a probability could be 999/1000, or 1/1000, or generally 1/m. The denominator shows how many times an event occurs, and the numerator shows how many times it aligns with another event. For example, when rolling a die, the probability of rolling an ace is represented by using the total number of rolls as the denominator and the number of times the ace is rolled as the numerator; we can assume that the more rolls we make, the closer the resulting fraction will get to 1/6.
Instead of speaking of the 'throwing of the die' and its 'turning up ace' as two events, the former is called 'the event' and the latter 'the way of its happening.' And these expressions may easily be extended to cover relations of distinct events; as when two men shoot at a mark and we desire to represent the probability of both hitting the bull's eye together, each shot may count as an event (denominator) and the coincidence of 'bull's-eyes' as the way of its happening (numerator).
Instead of referring to the 'throwing of the die' and its 'turning up ace' as two separate events, the first is called 'the event' and the second 'the way it happens.' These terms can easily be expanded to cover relationships between different events; for instance, when two people shoot at a target and we want to represent the probability of both hitting the bull's eye at the same time, each shot can be considered an event (denominator), while the occurrence of both hitting 'bull's-eyes' can be seen as the way it happens (numerator).
It is also common to speak of probability as a propor[Pg 313]tion. If the fraction expressing the probability of ace being cast is 1/6, the proportion of cases in which it happens is 1 to 5; or (as it is, perhaps, still more commonly put) 'the chances are 5 to 1 against it.'
It’s also common to refer to probability as a ratio. If the chance of rolling an ace is 1/6, the ratio of cases where it occurs is 1 to 5; or (as it might be more often said) 'the odds are 5 to 1 against it.'
§ 3. As to the grounds of probability opinions differ. According to one view the ground is subjective: probability depends, it is said, upon the quantity of our Belief in the happening of a certain event, or in its happening in a particular way. According to the other view the ground is objective, and, in fact, is nothing else than experience, which is most trustworthy when carefully expressed in statistics.
§ 3. Regarding the reasons behind probability, opinions vary. One perspective suggests that it’s subjective: probability hinges on how strongly we believe that a certain event will occur or that it will unfold in a specific way. The alternative view is that it’s objective, grounded in experience, which is most reliable when clearly represented in statistics.
To the subjective view it may be objected, (a) that belief cannot by itself be satisfactorily measured. No one will maintain that belief, merely as a state of mind, always has a definite numerical value of which one is conscious, as 1/100 or 1/10. Let anybody mix a number of letters in a bag, knowing nothing of them except that one of them is X, and then draw them one by one, endeavouring each time to estimate the value of his belief that the next will be X; can he say that his belief in the drawing of X next time regularly increases as the number of letters left decreases?
To the subjective perspective, it can be argued that (a) belief can't be effectively measured on its own. No one would argue that belief, just as a state of mind, always has a specific numerical value that someone is aware of, like 1/100 or 1/10. If someone mixes a bunch of letters in a bag, knowing only that one of them is X, and then draws them one by one, trying to estimate how confident they are that the next letter will be X; can they really claim that their belief in drawing X increases consistently as the number of letters left decreases?
If not, we see that (b) belief does not uniformly correspond with the state of the facts. If in such a trial as proposed above, we really wish to draw X, as when looking for something in a number of boxes, how common it is, after a few failures, to feel quite hopeless and to say: "Oh, of course it will be in the last." For belief is subject to hope and fear, temperament, passion, and prejudice, and not merely to rational considerations. And it is useless to appeal to 'the Wise Man,' the purely rational judge of probability, unless he is producible. Or, if it be said that belief is a short cut to the evaluation of experience, because it is the resultant of all past experience, we may reply that this is not true. For one striking experience, [Pg 314]or two or three recent ones, will immensely outweigh a great number of faint or remote experiences. Moreover, the experience of two men may be practically equal, whilst their beliefs upon any question greatly differ. Any two Englishmen have about the same experience, personal and ancestral, of the weather; yet their beliefs in the saw that 'if it rain on St. Swithin's Day it will rain for forty days after,' may differ as confident expectation and sheer scepticism. Upon which of these beliefs shall we ground the probability of forty days' rain?
If not, we see that (b) belief doesn’t always reflect the facts accurately. In a situation like the one mentioned earlier, when we really want to find X, like searching through several boxes, it’s quite common, after a few unsuccessful attempts, to feel hopeless and think, "Oh, of course it will be in the last one." Belief is influenced by hope and fear, temperament, passion, and bias, not just by rational thought. It's pointless to refer to 'the Wise Man,' the purely logical judge of probability, unless he is present. Alternatively, if it's said that belief serves as a shortcut to evaluating experiences because it represents all past experiences, we can counter that this isn’t accurate. A striking experience, or even just a few recent ones, can significantly outweigh many distant or vague experiences. Furthermore, two individuals might have almost identical experiences, yet their beliefs on any issue can differ greatly. Any two Englishmen may share similar personal and familial experiences of the weather, but one might strongly believe in the saying that "if it rains on St. Swithin's Day, it will rain for forty days afterward," while the other may be completely skeptical. Which of these beliefs should we use to determine the likelihood of forty days of rain?
But (c) at any rate, if Probability is to be connected with Inductive Logic, it must rest upon the same ground, namely—observation. Induction, in any particular case, is not content with beliefs or opinions, but aims at testing, verifying or correcting them by appealing to the facts; and Probability has the same object and the same basis.
But (c) in any case, if Probability is going to be linked with Inductive Logic, it needs to be based on the same foundation, which is observation. Induction, in any specific instance, doesn’t settle for beliefs or opinions; it seeks to test, verify, or correct them by referring to the facts. Probability has the same goal and the same foundation.
In some cases, indeed, the conditions of an event are supposed to be mathematically predetermined, as in tossing a penny, throwing dice, dealing cards. In throwing a die, the ways of happening are six; in tossing a penny only two, head and tail: and we usually assume that the odds with a die are fairly 5 to 1 against ace, whilst with a penny 'the betting is even' on head or tail. Still, this assumption rests upon another, that the die is perfectly fair, or that the head and tail of a penny are exactly alike; and this is not true. With an ordinary die or penny, a very great number of trials would, no doubt, give an average approximating to 1/6 or 1/2; yet might always leave a certain excess one way or the other, which would also become more definite as the trials went on; thus showing that the die or penny did not satisfy the mathematical hypothesis. Buffon is said to have tossed a coin 4040 times, obtaining 1992 heads and 2048 tails; a pupil of De Morgan tossed 4092 times, obtaining 2048 heads and 2044 tails.
In some cases, the outcomes of an event are considered to be mathematically predetermined, like when tossing a coin, rolling dice, or dealing cards. When rolling a die, there are six possible outcomes; when tossing a coin, there are only two—heads and tails. We typically assume the odds of rolling an ace with a die are about 5 to 1 against it, while with a coin, the odds are even for heads or tails. However, this assumption is based on another one: that the die is perfectly fair or that the heads and tails of a coin are exactly the same, which isn’t true. With a standard die or coin, a large number of trials would likely result in averages close to 1/6 or 1/2; however, there may always be a slight bias in one direction or the other, which would become more pronounced as the trials continue, indicating that the die or coin does not meet the mathematical assumption. Buffon reportedly tossed a coin 4040 times, getting 1992 heads and 2048 tails; a student of De Morgan tossed 4092 times, resulting in 2048 heads and 2044 tails.
There are other important cases in which probability is estimated and numerically expressed, although statistical evidence directly bearing upon the point in question cannot be obtained; as in betting upon a race; or in the prices of stocks and shares, which are supposed to represent the probability of their paying, or continuing to pay, a certain rate of interest. But the judgment of experts in such matters is certainly based upon experience; and great pains are taken to make the evidence as definite as possible by comparing records of speed, or by financial estimates; though something must still be allowed for reports of the condition of horses, or of the prospects of war, harvests, etc.
There are other important situations where probability is estimated and expressed numerically, even when statistical evidence directly related to the issue isn’t available; like betting on a race or in the prices of stocks and shares, which are believed to reflect the likelihood of providing, or continuing to provide, a certain rate of interest. However, experts' judgments in these areas are definitely grounded in experience; and significant effort is made to make the evidence as clear as possible by comparing speed records or financial assessments; although some allowance still needs to be made for reports on the condition of horses, the likelihood of war, harvests, etc.
However, where statistical evidence is obtainable, no one dreams of estimating probability by the quantity of his belief. Insurance offices, dealing with fire, shipwreck, death, accident, etc., prepare elaborate statistics of these events, and regulate their rates accordingly. Apart from statistics, at what rate ought the lives of men aged 40 to be insured, in order to leave a profit of 5 per cent. upon £1000 payable at each man's death? Is 'quantity of belief' a sufficient basis for doing this sum?
However, when statistical evidence is available, no one thinks of estimating probability based on how much they believe. Insurance companies, dealing with fire, shipwreck, death, accidents, etc., create detailed statistics about these events and adjust their rates accordingly. Besides statistics, what rate should the lives of 40-year-old men be insured at to ensure a profit of 5 percent on £1000 payable upon each man's death? Is the 'quantity of belief' a solid foundation for calculating this?
§ 4. The ground of probability is experience, then, and, whenever possible, statistics; which are a kind of induction. It has indeed been urged that induction is itself based upon probability; that the subtlety, complexity and secrecy of nature are such, that we are never quite sure that we fully know even what we have observed; and that, as for laws, the conditions of the universe at large may at any moment be completely changed; so that all imperfect inductions, including the law of causation itself, are only probable. But, clearly, this doctrine turns upon another ambiguity in the word 'probable.' It may be used in the sense of 'less than absolutely certain'; and such doubtless is the condition of all human knowledge, in comparison with the comprehensive intuition of arch-[Pg 316]angels: or it may mean 'less than certain according to our standard of certainty,' that is, in comparison with the law of causation and its derivatives.
§ 4. So, the basis of probability is experience and, whenever possible, statistics, which are a form of induction. It's been argued that induction itself relies on probability; that the intricacy, complexity, and hidden aspects of nature are such that we can never be entirely sure we fully understand even what we observe; and that, as for laws, the conditions of the universe could change at any moment, meaning all flawed inductions, including the law of causation itself, are merely probable. However, it's clear that this idea hinges on another ambiguity of the word 'probable.' It can mean 'less than absolutely certain,' which describes the state of all human knowledge when compared to the complete understanding of arch-[Pg 316]angels; or it can mean 'less than certain based on our standard of certainty,' in comparison with the law of causation and its offshoots.
We may suppose some one to object that "by this relative standard even empirical laws cannot be called 'only probable' as long as we 'know no exception to them'; for that is all that can be said for the boasted law of causation; and that, accordingly, we can frame no fraction to represent their probability. That 'all swans are white' was at one time, from this point of view, not probable but certain; though we now know it to be false. It would have been an indecorum to call it only probable as long as no other-coloured swan had been discovered; not merely because the quantity of belief amounted to certainty, but because the number of events (seeing a swan) and the number of their happenings in a certain way (being white) were equal, and therefore the evidence amounted to 1 or certainty." But, in fact, such an empirical law is only probable; and the estimate of its probability must be based on the number of times that similar laws have been found liable to exceptions. Albinism is of frequent occurrence; and it is common to find closely allied varieties of animals differing in colour. Had the evidence been duly weighed, it could never have seemed more than probable that 'all swans are white.' But what law, approaching the comprehensiveness of the law of causation, presents any exceptions?
We might consider someone saying that "according to this relative standard, even empirical laws can't be deemed 'only probable' as long as we 'know of no exceptions to them'; since that’s all that can be claimed for the so-called law of causation. Thus, we can't create any fraction to represent their probability. The statement 'all swans are white' was, at one point, seen as certain from this perspective, even though we now know it to be false. It would have been inappropriate to label it as only probable while no differently colored swan had been found; not just because the level of belief bordered on certainty, but because the number of observed events (seeing a swan) and their occurrences in a particular way (being white) were equal, thus making the evidence equal to 1 or certainty." However, in reality, such an empirical law is only probable; and the assessment of its probability should be based on the frequency with which similar laws have been found to have exceptions. Albinism occurs quite often; and it's common to see closely related species of animals that differ in color. If the evidence had been properly evaluated, it would never have seemed more than probable that 'all swans are white.' But what law with the broad scope of the law of causation has exceptions?
Supposing evidence to be ultimately nothing but accumulated experience, the amount of it in favour of causation is incomparably greater than the most that has ever been advanced to show the probability of any other kind of event; and every relation of events which is shown to have the marks of causation obtains the support of that incomparably greater body of evidence. Hence the only way in which causation can be called probable, for us, is by considering it as the upward limit (1) to [Pg 317]which the series of probabilities tends; as impossibility is the downward limit (0). Induction, 'humanly speaking,' does not rest on probability; but the probability of concrete events (not of mere mathematical abstractions like the falling of absolutely true dice) rests on induction and, therefore, on causation. The inductive evidence underlying an estimate of probability may be of three kinds: (a) direct statistics of the events in question; as when we find that, at the age of 20, the average expectation of life is 39-40 years. This is an empirical law, and, if we do not know the causes of any event, we must be content with an empirical law. But (b) if we do know the causes of an event, and the causes which may prevent its happening, and can estimate the comparative frequency of their occurring, we may deduce the probability that the effect (that is, the event in question) will occur. Or (c) we may combine these two methods, verifying each by means of the other. Now either the method (b) or (a fortiori) the method (c) (both depending on causation) is more trustworthy than the method (a) by itself.
Assuming that evidence is really just accumulated experience, the amount in support of causation is vastly greater than anything else ever offered to suggest the likelihood of any other type of event. Every relationship between events that shows signs of causation is backed by that overwhelmingly larger body of evidence. Therefore, the only way we can consider causation to be probable is by seeing it as the upper limit (1) to which the series of probabilities approaches, just as impossibility represents the lower limit (0). Induction, in a practical sense, doesn't rely on probability; however, the probability of real events (not just theoretical ideas like rolling perfectly fair dice) is based on induction and, consequently, causation. The inductive evidence supporting a probability estimate can fall into three categories: (a) direct statistics related to the events at hand; for example, finding that, at age 20, the average life expectancy is about 39-40 years. This is an empirical law, and if we don't understand the causes of a particular event, we must accept this empirical law. But (b) if we do know the causes of an event and the factors that might prevent it, as well as how often these factors occur, we can determine the likelihood that the effect (or the event we're examining) will happen. Or (c) we can combine these two approaches, confirming each with the other. In this case, either method (b) or, even more so, method (c) (both relying on causation) is more reliable than method (a) on its own.
But, further, a merely empirical statistical law will only be true as long as the causes influencing the event remain the same. A die may be found to turn ace once in six throws, on the average, in close accordance with mathematical theory; but if we load it on that facet the results will be very different. So it is with the expectation of life, or fire, or shipwreck. The increased virulence of some epidemic such as influenza, an outbreak of anarchic incendiarism, a moral epidemic of over-loading ships, may deceive the hopes of insurance offices. Hence we see, again, that probability depends upon causation, not causation upon probability.
But, additionally, a purely empirical statistical law will only hold true as long as the factors influencing the outcome stay the same. A die may show an ace once every six throws on average, which aligns closely with mathematical theory; however, if we weight that side, the results will change significantly. The same goes for life expectancy, fires, or shipwrecks. The increased severity of certain epidemics like influenza, a surge of reckless arson, or a moral crisis of overloading ships can mislead insurance companies' expectations. Thus, it becomes clear once more that probability relies on causation, not the other way around.
That uncertainty of an event which arises not from ignorance of the law of its cause, but from our not knowing whether the cause itself does or does not occur at any particular time, is Contingency.
That uncertainty about an event that comes not from a lack of understanding of the law behind its cause, but from our inability to know whether the cause is happening at any specific moment, is Contingency.
§ 5. The nature of an average supposes deviations from it. Deviations from an average, or "errors," are assumed to conform to the law (1) that the greater errors are less frequent than the smaller, so that most events approximate to the average; and (2) that errors have no "bias," but are equally frequent and equally great in both directions from the mean, so that they are scattered symmetrically. Hence their distribution may be expressed by some such figure as the following:
§ 5. The nature of an average implies that there will be deviations from it. Deviations from an average, or "errors," are assumed to follow the rules: (1) larger errors occur less frequently than smaller ones, meaning most events are close to the average; and (2) errors are unbiased and occur with equal frequency and magnitude in both directions from the mean, causing them to be symmetrically distributed. Therefore, their distribution can be illustrated by a figure like this:

Here o is the average event, and oy represents the number of average events. Along ox, in either direction, deviations are measured. At p the amount of error or deviation is op; and the number of such deviations is represented by the line or ordinate pa. At s the deviation is os; and the number of such deviations is expressed by sb. As the deviations grow greater, the number of them grows less. On the other side of o, toward -x, at distances, op', os' (equal to op, os) the lines p'a', s'b' represent the numbers of those errors (equal to pa, sb).
Here o is the average event, and oy shows how many average events there are. Along ox, deviations are measured in either direction. At p, the amount of error or deviation is op; and the number of these deviations is represented by the line or ordinate pa. At s, the deviation is os; and the number of these deviations is expressed by sb. As the deviations get larger, the number of them decreases. On the other side of o, toward -x, at distances op', os' (which are equal to op, os), the lines p'a', s'b' represent the counts of those errors (equal to pa, sb).
If o is the average height of the adult men of a nation, (say) 5 ft. 6 in., s' and s may stand for 5 ft. and 6 ft.; [Pg 319]men of 4 ft. 6 in. lie further toward -x, and men of 6 ft. 6 in. further toward x. There are limits to the stature of human beings (or to any kind of animal or plant) in both directions, because of the physical conditions of generation and birth. With such events the curve b'yb meets the abscissa at some point in each direction; though where this occurs can only be known by continually measuring dwarfs and giants. But in throwing dice or tossing coins, whilst the average occurrence of ace is once in six throws, and the average occurrence of 'tail' is once in two tosses, there is no necessary limit to the sequences of ace or of 'tail' that may occur in an infinite number of trials. To provide for such cases the curve is drawn as if it never touched the abscissa.
If o is the average height of adult men in a country, let’s say 5 ft. 6 in., s' and s could represent 5 ft. and 6 ft.; [Pg 319]men who are 4 ft. 6 in. are further towards -x, while men who are 6 ft. 6 in. are further towards x. There are limits to how tall or short humans (or any kind of animal or plant) can be, due to the physical conditions of reproduction and birth. In these cases, the curve b'yb meets the horizontal axis at certain points in both directions; however, the exact locations can only be determined by consistently measuring dwarfs and giants. In contrast, when rolling dice or flipping coins, the average occurrence of an ace is once every six rolls, and the average occurrence of a 'tail' is once every two flips, but there’s no upper limit to how many aces or tails can show up in an infinite number of tries. To account for these situations, the curve is drawn as if it never touches the horizontal axis.
That some such figure as that given above describes a frequent characteristic of an average with the deviations from it, may be shown in two ways: (1) By arranging the statistical results of any homogeneous class of measurements; when it is often found that they do, in fact, approximately conform to the figure; that very many events are near the average; that errors are symmetrically distributed on either side, and that the greater errors are the rarer. (2) By mathematical demonstration based upon the supposition that each of the events in question is influenced, more or less, by a number of unknown conditions common to them all, and that these conditions are independent of one another. For then, in rare cases, all the conditions will operate favourably in one way, and the men will be tall; or in the opposite way, and the men will be short; in more numerous cases, many of the conditions will operate in one direction, and will be partially cancelled by a few opposing them; whilst in still more cases opposed conditions will approximately balance one another and produce the average event or something near it. The results will then conform to the above figure.
The description of a typical figure as mentioned above reflects a common feature of an average along with its variations, which can be demonstrated in two ways: (1) By organizing the statistical results of any uniform set of measurements; it often turns out that they closely match the figure, with many occurrences near the average, errors evenly distributed on both sides, and larger errors being less common. (2) Through mathematical proof based on the idea that each event in question is affected, to some degree, by a number of unknown factors that are shared among them, and that these factors are independent of each other. In rare instances, all the factors will align positively, resulting in taller individuals; or negatively, leading to shorter individuals; in more common situations, many of the factors will lean in one direction and be countered by a few opposing them; while in even more cases, opposing factors will roughly balance each other out, producing the average outcome or something close to it. The results will conform to the figure mentioned above.
From the above assumption it follows that the symmetrical curve describes only a 'homogeneous class' of measurements; that is, a class no portion of which is much influenced by conditions peculiar to itself. If the class is not homogeneous, because some portion of it is subject to peculiar conditions, the curve will show a hump on one side or the other. Suppose we are tabulating the ages at which Englishmen die who have reached the age of 20, we may find that the greatest number die at 39 (19 years being the average expectation of life at 20) and that as far as that age the curve upwards is regular, and that beyond the age of 39 it begins to descend regularly, but that on approaching 45 it bulges out some way before resuming its regular descent—thus:
From the assumption above, it follows that the symmetrical curve represents only a 'homogeneous class' of measurements; that is, a class that isn't significantly affected by conditions unique to itself. If the class isn't homogeneous because part of it is influenced by **peculiar** conditions, the curve will have a bump on one side or the other. For example, if we're tracking the ages at which Englishmen die after reaching 20, we might find that the highest number die at 39 (with 19 years being the average life expectancy at 20), and that up to that age, the curve rises steadily. However, after the age of 39, it starts to decline steadily, but as it approaches 45, it bulges out a bit before continuing its regular decline—thus:

Such a hump in the curve might be due to the presence of a considerable body of teetotalers, whose longevity was increased by the peculiar condition of abstaining from alcohol, and whose average age was 45, 6 years more than the average for common men.
Such a bump in the curve might be because there’s a significant number of teetotalers, whose lifespan was boosted by their choice to avoid alcohol, and whose average age was 45, which is 6 years more than the average for regular men.

If, above a certain height, volunteers are also rejected, the curve will fall abruptly on both sides. The average is supposed to be 5 ft. 8 in.
If volunteers are also turned away above a certain height, the curve will drop sharply on both sides. The average is expected to be 5 ft. 8 in.
The distribution of events is described by 'some such curve' as that given in Fig. 11; but different groups of events may present figures or surfaces in which the slopes of the curves are very different, namely, more or less steep; and if the curve is very steep, the figure runs into a peak; whereas, if the curve is gradual, the figure is comparatively flat. In the latter case, where the figure is flat, fewer events will closely cluster about the average, and the deviations will be greater.
The distribution of events is shown by 'some such curve' as illustrated in Fig. 11; however, different groups of events might display shapes or surfaces where the slopes of the curves vary significantly, meaning they can be more or less steep. If the curve is very steep, the shape reaches a peak; on the other hand, if the curve is gentle, the shape is relatively flat. In the case where the shape is flat, fewer events will closely gather around the average, and the variations will be larger.
Suppose that we know nothing of a given event except that it belongs to a certain class or series, what can we venture to infer of it from our knowledge of the series? Let the event be the cephalic index of an Englishman. The cephalic index is the breadth of a skull × 100 and divided by the length of it; e.g. if a skull is 8 in. long and 6 in. broad, (6×100)/8=75. We know that the average English skull has an index of 78. The skull [Pg 322]of the given individual, therefore, is more likely to have that index than any other. Still, many skulls deviate from the average, and we should like to know what is the probable error in this case. The probable error is the measurement that divides the deviations from the average in either direction into halves, so that there are as many events having a greater deviation as there are events having a less deviation. If, in Fig. 11 above, we have arranged the measurements of the cephalic index of English adult males, and if at o (the average or mean) the index is 78, and if the line pa divides the right side of the fig. into halves, then op is the probable error. If the measurement at p is 80, the probable error is 2. Similarly, on the left hand, the probable error is op', and the measurement at p' is 76. We may infer, then, that the skull of the man before us is more likely to have an index of 78 than any other; if any other, it is equally likely to lie between 80 and 76, or to lie outside them; but as the numbers rise above 80 to the right, or fall below 76 to the left, it rapidly becomes less and less likely that they describe this skull.
Suppose we know nothing about a specific event except that it belongs to a certain category or series. What can we reasonably infer about it based on that knowledge? Let's say the event is the cephalic index of an Englishman. The cephalic index is calculated by taking the width of the skull multiplied by 100 and then divided by its length; for example, if a skull is 8 inches long and 6 inches wide, (6×100)/8=75. We know that the average English skull has an index of 78. Therefore, the skull of this individual is more likely to have that index than any other. However, many skulls differ from the average, and we would like to understand what the probable error is in this case. The probable error is the measurement that splits the deviations from the average in both directions into two equal halves, meaning there are as many instances with a greater deviation as there are with a lesser deviation. If, in Fig. 11 above, we list the measurements of the cephalic index for English adult males, and if at o (the average or mean) the index is 78, and if the line pa divides the right side of the figure into halves, then op represents the probable error. If the measurement at p is 80, then the probable error is 2. Likewise, on the left side, the probable error is op', and the measurement at p' is 76. We can then conclude that the skull of the man in question is more likely to have an index of 78 than any other; if it's any other, it’s equally likely to be between 80 and 76, or to lie outside of those values; but as the numbers increase above 80 on the right, or decrease below 76 on the left, it quickly becomes less likely that those numbers apply to this skull.
In such cases as heights of men or skull measurements, where great numbers of specimens exist, the average will be actually presented by many of them; but if we take a small group, such as the measurements of a college class, it may happen that the average height (say, 5 ft. 8 in.) is not the actual height of any one man. Even then there will generally be a closer cluster of the actual heights about that number than about any other. Still, with very few cases before us, it may be better to take the median than the average. The median is that event on either side of which there are equal numbers of deviations. One advantage of this procedure is that it may save time and trouble. To find approximately the average height of a class, arrange the men in order of height, take the middle one and measure him. A further advantage of [Pg 323]this method is that it excludes the influence of extraordinary deviations. Suppose we have seven cephalic indices, from skeletons found in the same barrow, 75½, 76, 78, 78, 79, 80½, 86. The average is 79; but this number is swollen unduly by the last measurement; and the median, 78, is more fairly representative of the series; that is to say, with a greater number of skulls the average would probably have been nearer 78.
In situations like measuring the heights of men or skull sizes, where there are a lot of samples, the average will be represented by many of them. However, if we look at a small group, like the heights of a college class, it’s possible that the average height (for example, 5 ft. 8 in.) might not match the actual height of any individual. Generally, though, the actual heights will usually cluster closer to that average than to any other number. Still, with only a few cases to consider, it might be better to use the median instead of the average. The median is the point where there are equal numbers of values on either side. One benefit of this approach is that it can save time and effort. To quickly find the average height of a class, arrange the students by height, take the middle one, and measure him. Another advantage of this method is that it removes the effect of unusual extremes. For instance, if we have seven skull measurements from skeletons found in the same burial mound: 75½, 76, 78, 78, 79, 80½, 86. The average would be 79; however, this number is inflated because of the last measurement, and the median of 78 better represents the set. This means that with a larger number of skulls, the average would likely be closer to 78.
To make a single measurement of a phenomenon does not give one much confidence. Another measurement is made; and then, if there is no opportunity for more, one takes the mean or average of the two. But why? For the result may certainly be worse than the first measurement. Suppose that the events I am measuring are in fact fairly described by Fig. II, although (at the outset) I know nothing about them; and that my first measurement gives p, and my second s; the average of them is worse than p. Still, being yet ignorant of the distribution of these events, I do rightly in taking the average. For, as it happens, ¾ of the events lie to the left of p; so that if the first trial gives p, then the average of p and any subsequent trial that fell nearer than (say) s' on the opposite side, would be better than p; and since deviations greater than s' are rare, the chances are nearly 3 to 1 that the taking of an average will improve the observation. Only if the first trial give o, or fall within a little more than ½p on either side of o, will the chances be against any improvement by trying again and taking an average. Since, therefore, we cannot know the position of our first trial in relation to o, it is always prudent to try again and take the average; and the more trials we can make and average, the better is the result. The average of a number of observations is called a "Reduced Observation."
Making just one measurement of a phenomenon doesn't give you much confidence. You make another measurement, and if there's no chance for more, you take the mean or average of the two. But why? The result could definitely be worse than the first measurement. Imagine that the events I'm measuring are actually well represented by Fig. II, even though I don’t know anything about them at first; if my first measurement is p and my second is s, the average could end up being worse than p. Still, since I still don’t know how these events are distributed, it makes sense to take the average. As it turns out, ¾ of the events fall to the left of p, so if the first trial gives p, then the average of p and any subsequent trial that lands closer to (let’s say) s' on the other side would be better than p; and since deviations greater than s' are rare, there's nearly a 3 to 1 chance that averaging will improve the observation. Only if the first trial gives o, or falls slightly more than ½p on either side of o, will the odds be against any improvement from trying again and averaging. Since we can't know where our first trial stands in relation to o, it's always wise to try again and take the average; and the more trials we can conduct and average, the better the result. The average of several observations is called a "Reduced Observation."
We may have reason to believe that some of our measurements are better than others because they have [Pg 324]been taken by a better trained observer, or by the same observer in a more deliberate way, or with better instruments, and so forth. If so, such observations should be 'weighted,' or given more importance in our calculations; and a simple way of doing this is to count them twice or oftener in taking the average.
We might have reasons to think that some of our measurements are more reliable than others because they were taken by a better-trained observer, or by the same observer with more care, or with better instruments, and so on. If that’s the case, those observations should be 'weighted,' meaning they should be given more importance in our calculations; one straightforward way to do this is to count them twice or more when calculating the average.
§ 6. These considerations have an important bearing upon the interpretation of probabilities. The average probability for any general class or series of events cannot be confidently applied to any one instance or to any special class of instances, since this one, or this special class, may exhibit a striking error or deviation; it may, in fact, be subject to special causes. Within the class whose average is first taken, and which is described by general characters as 'a man,' or 'a die,' or 'a rifle shot,' there may be classes marked by special characters and determined by special influences. Statistics giving the average for 'mankind' may not be true of 'civilised men,' or of any still smaller class such as 'Frenchmen.' Hence life-insurance offices rely not merely on statistics of life and death in general, but collect special evidence in respect of different ages and sexes, and make further allowance for teetotalism, inherited disease, etc. Similarly with individual cases: the average expectation for a class, whether general or special, is only applicable to any particular case if that case is adequately described by the class characters. In England, for example, the average expectation of life for males at 20 years of age is 39.40; but at 60 it is still 13.14, and at 73 it is 7.07; at 100 it's 1.61. Of men 20 years old those who live more or less than 39.40 years are deviations or errors; but there are a great many of them. To insure the life of a single man at 20, in the expectation of his dying at 60, would be a mere bet, if we had no special knowledge of him; the safety of an insurance office lies in having so many clients that opposite deviations cancel one another: the more [Pg 325]clients the safer the business. It is quite possible that a hundred men aged 20 should be insured in one week and all of them die before 25; this would be ruinous, if others did not live to be 80 or 90.
§ 6. These considerations significantly impact how we interpret probabilities. The average probability for any general class or series of events can't be reliably applied to any one instance or to any specific class of instances, since this one instance, or this specific class, might show a clear error or deviation; it may actually be influenced by unique factors. Within the class from which the average is first derived, described by general characteristics like 'a man,' or 'a die,' or 'a rifle shot,' there can exist classes identified by special traits and determined by specific influences. Statistics showing the average for 'mankind' may not accurately reflect 'civilized men,' or any even smaller group like 'Frenchmen.' This is why life insurance companies rely not just on general statistics about life and death, but also gather specific data regarding different ages and genders, and make further adjustments for factors like sobriety, hereditary diseases, etc. Similarly, with individual cases: the average expectation for a class, whether general or specific, only applies to a particular case if that case is sufficiently described by the class characteristics. In England, for example, the average life expectancy for males at 20 years old is 39.40 years; but at 60, it drops to 13.14 years, and at 73, it’s 7.07 years; at 100, it’s 1.61 years. Among 20-year-old men, those who live more or less than 39.40 years are deviations or errors; however, there are many of them. Insuring the life of a single 20-year-old man, expecting him to die at 60, would just be a gamble if we didn't have any specific knowledge about him; the safety of an insurance company lies in having enough clients so that differing deviations offset each other: the more [Pg 325]clients there are, the safer the business. It is entirely possible that a hundred 20-year-old men could be insured in one week and all might die before reaching 25; this would be disastrous if others did not survive to be 80 or 90.
Not only in such a practical affair as insurance, but in matters purely scientific, the minute and subtle peculiarities of individuals have important consequences. Each man has a certain cast of mind, character, physique, giving a distinctive turn to all his actions even when he tries to be normal. In every employment this determines his Personal Equation, or average deviation from the normal. The term Personal Equation is used chiefly in connection with scientific observation, as in Astronomy. Each observer is liable to be a little wrong, and this error has to be allowed for and his observations corrected accordingly.
Not only in practical matters like insurance, but also in purely scientific issues, the unique and subtle traits of individuals have significant effects. Every person has a specific mindset, character, and physical presence that influences all their actions, even when they strive to act normally. In every job, this shapes their Personal Equation, or average deviation from what’s considered normal. The term Personal Equation is primarily used in relation to scientific observation, like in Astronomy. Each observer may have minor inaccuracies, and these errors need to be accounted for, requiring adjustments to their observations.
The use of the term 'expectation,' and of examples drawn from insurance and gambling, may convey the notion that probability relates entirely to future events; but if based on laws and causes, it can have no reference to point of time. As long as conditions are the same, events will be the same, whether we consider uniformities or averages. We may therefore draw probable inferences concerning the past as well as the future, subject to the same hypothesis, that the causes affecting the events in question were the same and similarly combined. On the other hand, if we know that conditions bearing on the subject of investigation, have changed since statistics were collected, or were different at some time previous to the collection of evidence, every probable inference based on those statistics must be corrected by allowing for the altered conditions, whether we desire to reason forwards or backwards in time.
The term 'expectation,' along with examples from insurance and gambling, might give the impression that probability is only about future events; however, if it's based on laws and causes, it doesn't relate to a specific time. As long as the conditions stay the same, the events will be the same, whether we're looking at uniformities or averages. This means we can make probable inferences about the past as well as the future, as long as we assume that the causes influencing the events were the same and very similar. On the flip side, if we know that the conditions relevant to our investigation have changed since the statistics were gathered, or were different at any time before the data was collected, any probable inference we make from those statistics needs to be adjusted to account for those changed conditions, whether we're reasoning forward or backward in time.
(1) If two events or causes do not concur, the probability of one or the other occurring is the sum of the [Pg 326]separate probabilities. A die cannot turn up both ace and six; but the probability in favour of each is 1/6: therefore, the probability in favour of one or the other is 1/3. Death can hardly occur from both burning and drowning: if 1 in 1000 is burned and 2 in 1000 are drowned, the probability of being burned or drowned is 3/1000.
(1) If two events or causes don’t happen at the same time, the likelihood of one or the other happening is the total of their individual probabilities. A die can't show both an ace and a six; but the chance of rolling either is 1/6: therefore, the chance of getting one or the other is 1/3. You can’t really die from both burning and drowning: if 1 in 1000 people catch fire and 2 in 1000 people drown, the chance of getting burned or drowned is 3/1000.
(2) If two events are independent, having neither connection nor repugnance, the probability of their concurring is found by multiplying together the separate probabilities of each occurring. If in walking down a certain street I meet A once in four times, and B once in three times, I ought (by mere chance) to meet both once in twelve times: for in twelve occasions I meet B four times; but once in four I meet A.
(2) If two events are independent, having no connection or opposition, the probability of them both happening is calculated by multiplying their individual probabilities. If, for example, while walking down a certain street I meet A once every four times, and B once every three times, I would expect to meet both A and B together once in twelve times: because in twelve tries I meet B four times, but I meet A once every four times.
This is a very important rule in scientific investigation, since it enables us to detect the presence of causation. For if the coincidence of two events is more or less frequent than it would be if they were entirely independent, there is either connection or repugnance between them. If, e.g., in walking down the street I meet both A and B oftener than once in twelve times, they may be engaged in similar business, calling them from their offices at about the same hour. If I meet them both less often than once in twelve times, they may belong to the same office, where one acts as a substitute for the other. Similarly, if in a multitude of throws a die turns six oftener than once in six times, it is not a fair one: that is, there is a cause favouring the turning of six. If of 20,000 people 500 see apparitions and 100 have friends murdered, the chance of any man having both experiences is 1/8000; but if each lives on the average 300,000 hours, the chance of both events occurring in the same hour is 1/2400000000. If the two events occur in the same hour oftener than this, there is more than a chance coincidence.
This is a really important rule in scientific investigation because it helps us identify causation. If the frequency of two events occurring together is higher or lower than what we would expect if they were completely independent, there’s either a connection or a contradiction between them. For example, if while walking down the street I meet both A and B more often than once in twelve times, they might be involved in similar work that pulls them from their offices around the same time. If I meet them both less often than once in twelve times, they might work at the same place, with one acting as a substitute for the other. Similarly, if a die shows a six more often than once in six rolls, it’s not fair; that is, there’s something causing it to roll a six more frequently. If in a group of 20,000 people, 500 see ghosts and 100 have friends who were murdered, the chance of any one person experiencing both is 1 in 8,000; but if each person lives an average of 300,000 hours, the chance of both events happening in the same hour is 1 in 2,400,000,000. If these two events occur in the same hour more often than this, it’s more than just a coincidence.
(3) The rule for calculating the probability of a dependent event is the same as the above; for the concurrence of two independent events is itself dependent upon each of them occurring. My meeting with both A and B in the street is dependent on my walking there and on my meeting one of them. Similarly, if A is sometimes a cause of B (though liable to be frustrated), and B sometimes of C (C and B having no causes independent of B and A respectively), the occurrence of C is dependent on that of B, and that again on the occurrence of A. Hence we may state the rule: If two events are dependent each on another, so that if one occur the second may (or may not), and if the second a third; whilst the third never occurs without the second, nor the second without the first; the probability that if the first occur the third will, is found by multiplying together the fractions expressing the probability that the first is a mark of the second and the second of the third.
(3) The rule for calculating the probability of a dependent event is the same as mentioned above; the occurrence of two independent events depends on both of them happening. My running into both A and B on the street depends on my walking there and on meeting one of them. Similarly, if A occasionally causes B (though it might not always work out), and B sometimes causes C (with C and B having no independent causes away from B and A respectively), the occurrence of C relies on B happening, which in turn relies on A happening. Therefore, we can state the rule: If two events depend on each other, so that if one happens, the second might (or might not), and if the second happens, a third might follow; while the third never occurs without the second, nor the second without the first; the probability that if the first occurs, the third will is found by multiplying the fractions that express the probability that the first indicates the second and the second indicates the third.
Upon this principle the value of hearsay evidence or tradition deteriorates, and generally the cogency of any argument based upon the combination of approximate generalisations dependent on one another or "self-infirmative." If there are two witnesses, A and B, of whom A saw an event, whilst B only heard A relate it (and is therefore dependent on A), what credit is due to B's recital? Suppose the probability of each man's being correct as to what he says he saw, or heard, is 3/4: then (3/4 × 3/4 = 9/16) the probability that B's story is true is a little more than 1/2. For if in 16 attestations A is wrong 4 times, B can only be right in 3/4 of the remainder, or 9 times in 16. Again, if we have the Approximate Generalisations, 'Most attempts to reduce wages are met by [Pg 328]strikes,' and 'Most strikes are successful,' and learn, on statistical inquiry, that in every hundred attempts to reduce wages there are 80 strikes, and that 70 p.c. of the strikes are successful, then 56 p.c. of attempts to reduce wages are unsuccessful.
Based on this principle, the value of hearsay evidence or tradition declines, and generally, the strength of any argument built on interdependent approximate generalizations is "self-defeating." If there are two witnesses, A and B, where A saw an event and B only heard A describe it (and is therefore reliant on A), how much credit should we give to B's account? Let's say the probability of each person being accurate about what they claim to have seen or heard is 3/4: then (3/4 × 3/4 = 9/16) the chance that B's story is true is just over 1/2. For instance, if A is incorrect 4 times out of 16 testimonies, B can only be correct in 3/4 of the remaining accounts, or 9 times out of 16. Additionally, if we consider the Approximate Generalizations, 'Most attempts to reduce wages are met by [Pg 328]strikes,' and 'Most strikes are successful,' and we find through statistical investigation that in every hundred attempts to reduce wages there are 80 strikes, and that 70% of those strikes succeed, then 56% of the attempts to reduce wages are unsuccessful.
Of course this method of calculation cannot be quantitatively applied if no statistics are obtainable, as in the testimony of witnesses; and even if an average numerical value could be attached to the evidence of a certain class of witnesses, it would be absurd to apply it to the evidence of any particular member of the class without taking account of his education, interest in the case, prejudice, or general capacity. Still, the numerical illustration of the rapid deterioration of hearsay evidence, when less than quite veracious, puts us on our guard against rumour. To retail rumour may be as bad as to invent an original lie.
Of course, this calculation method can't be applied quantitatively if there's no available statistics, like in witness testimonies. Even if we could assign an average numerical value to the evidence from a certain group of witnesses, it would be ridiculous to apply that value to the evidence from any specific member of the group without considering their education, interest in the case, biases, or overall ability. However, the numerical example showing the quick decline of hearsay evidence, especially when it's not completely true, warns us to be cautious of rumors. Spreading rumors can be just as harmful as creating an original lie.
(4) If an event may coincide with two or more other independent events, the probability that they will together be a sign of it, is found by multiplying together the fractions representing the improbability that each is a sign of it, and subtracting the product from unity.
(4) If an event might overlap with two or more other independent events, the probability that they will all indicate it together is found by multiplying the fractions that represent the likelihood that each is not a sign of it and subtracting that product from one.
This is the rule for estimating the cogency of circumstantial evidence and analogical evidence; or, generally, for combining approximate generalisations "self-corroboratively." If, for example, each of two independent circumstances, A and B, indicates a probability of 6 to 1 in favour of a certain event; taking 1 to represent certainty, 1-6/7 is the improbability of the event, notwithstanding each circumstance. Then 1/7 × 1/7 = 1/49, the improbability of both proving it. Therefore the probability of the event is 48 to 1. The matter may be plainer if put thus: A's indication is right 6 times in 7, or 42 in 49; in the remaining 7 times in 49, B's indication will be right 6 times. Therefore, together they will be right 48 times in 49. If each of two witnesses is truthful 6 times in 7, one or the other will be truthful 48 times in 49. But they will not be [Pg 329]believed unless they agree; and in the 42 cases of A being right, B will contradict him 6 times; so that they only concur in being right 36 times. In the remaining 7 times in which A is wrong, B will contradict him 6 times, and once they will both be wrong. It does not follow that when both are wrong they will concur; for they may tell very different stories and still contradict one another.
This is the guideline for assessing the strength of circumstantial and analogical evidence, or generally, for combining similar generalizations in a self-supporting way. For instance, if both of two independent circumstances, A and B, suggest a probability of 6 to 1 in favor of a specific event, and we take 1 to signify certainty, the improbability of the event, despite each circumstance, is 1-6/7. Thus, 1/7 × 1/7 = 1/49, which represents the improbability of both confirming the event. Therefore, the probability of the event is 48 to 1. To clarify: A's indication is correct 6 out of 7 times, or 42 out of 49; in the remaining 7 out of 49 cases, B's indication will be correct 6 times. So together they will be correct 48 times out of 49. If each of two witnesses tells the truth 6 out of 7 times, either one will tell the truth 48 times out of 49. However, they won’t be believed unless they agree; in the 42 cases where A is correct, B will contradict him 6 times, so they only agree on being right 36 times. In the remaining 7 cases where A is wrong, B will contradict him 6 times, and there will be one instance where both are wrong. It doesn’t mean that when both are wrong they will agree; they might tell very different stories and still contradict each other.
If in an analogical argument there were 8 points of comparison, 5 for and 3 against a certain inference, and the probability raised by each point could be quantified, the total value of the evidence might be estimated by doing similar sums for and against, and subtracting the unfavourable from the favourable total.
If an analogical argument has 8 points of comparison, with 5 supporting and 3 opposing a certain conclusion, and if we could quantify the probability raised by each point, we could estimate the total value of the evidence by doing similar calculations for both sides and subtracting the negative total from the positive total.
When approximate generalisations that have not been precisely quantified combine their evidence, the cogency of the argument increases in the same way, though it cannot be made so definite. If it be true that most poets are irritable, and also that most invalids are irritable, a still greater proportion will be irritable of those who are both invalids and poets.
When rough generalizations that haven't been precisely measured come together, the strength of the argument increases similarly, although it can't be made completely definite. If it's true that most poets are irritable, and also that most invalids are irritable, then an even greater percentage of those who are both invalids and poets will be irritable.
On the whole, from the discussion of probabilities there emerge four principal cautions as to their use: Not to make a pedantic parade of numerical probability, where the numbers have not been ascertained; Not to trust to our feeling of what is likely, if statistics can be obtained; Not to apply an average probability to special classes or individuals without inquiring whether they correspond to the average type; and Not to trust to the empirical probability of events, if their causes can be discovered and made the basis of reasoning which the empirical probability may be used to verify.
Overall, from the discussion of probabilities, four main cautions emerge regarding their use: Don’t show off with numerical probability when the numbers haven’t been verified; Don’t rely on our gut feelings of what’s likely if statistics are available; Don’t apply an average probability to specific groups or individuals without checking if they match the average type; and Don’t depend on the empirical probability of events if their causes can be identified and used as the basis for reasoning that the empirical probability can then be used to confirm.
The reader who wishes to pursue this subject further should read a work to which the foregoing chapter is greatly indebted, Dr. Venn's Logic of Chance.
The reader who wants to explore this topic further should check out a work that this chapter heavily relies on, Dr. Venn's Logic of Chance.
CHAPTER XXI
DIVISION AND CLASSIFICATION
§ 1. Classification, in its widest sense, is a mental grouping of facts or phenomena according to their resemblances and differences, so as best to serve some purpose. A "mental grouping": for although in museums we often see the things themselves arranged in classes, yet such an arrangement only contains specimens representing a classification. The classification itself may extend to innumerable objects most of which have never been seen at all. Extinct animals, for example, are classified from what we know of their fossils; and some of the fossils may be seen arranged in a museum; but the animals themselves have disappeared for many ages.
§ 1. Classification, in its broadest sense, is the mental organization of facts or phenomena based on their similarities and differences to best fulfill a certain purpose. A "mental organization": because while we often see items in museums grouped into categories, that arrangement only displays examples of a classification. The classification itself can cover countless objects, most of which have never been seen. For instance, extinct animals are categorized based on what we know from their fossils; some of these fossils might be displayed in a museum, but the animals themselves have been gone for many ages.
Again, things are classed according to their resemblances and differences: that is to say, those that most closely resemble one another are classed together on that ground; and those that differ from one another in important ways, are distributed into other classes. The more the things differ, the wider apart are their classes both in thought and in the arrangements of a museum. If their differences are very great, as with animals, vegetables and minerals, the classing of them falls to different departments of thought or science, and is often represented in different museums, zoological, botanical, mineralogical.
Again, things are categorized based on their similarities and differences: in other words, those that are most similar to each other are grouped together for that reason; while those that have significant differences are placed into other categories. The more things differ, the further apart their categories are, both in terms of ideas and in how they’re arranged in a museum. If their differences are very pronounced, like between animals, plants, and minerals, the classification falls under different fields of thought or science, and is often displayed in separate museums—like zoological, botanical, and mineralogical.
We must not, however, suppose that there is only one way of classifying things. The same objects may be [Pg 331]classed in various ways according to the purpose in view. For gardening, we are usually content to classify plants into trees, shrubs, flowers, grasses and weeds; the ordinary crops of English agriculture are distinguished, in settling their rotation, into white and green; the botanist divides the higher plants into gymnosperms and angiosperms, and the latter into monocotyledons and dicotyledons. The principle of resemblance and difference is recognised in all these cases; but what resemblances or differences are important depends upon the purpose to be served.
We shouldn't assume that there's only one way to categorize things. The same objects can be grouped in different ways depending on the goal. For gardening, we typically classify plants into trees, shrubs, flowers, grasses, and weeds; in agriculture, the common crops in England are classified as white and green when deciding their rotation; botanists divide higher plants into gymnosperms and angiosperms, with the latter further split into monocots and dicots. The idea of similarities and differences is acknowledged in all these examples, but which similarities or differences matter depends on the intended purpose.
Purposes are either (α) special or practical, as in gardening or hunting, or (β) general or scientific, as in Botany or Zoology. The scientific purpose is merely knowledge; it may indeed subserve all particular or practical ends, but has no other end than knowledge directly in view. And whilst, even for knowledge, different classifications may be suitable for different lines of inquiry, in Botany and Zoology the Morphological Classification is that which gives the most general and comprehensive knowledge (see Huxley, On the Classification of Animals, ch. 1). Most of what a logician says about classification is applicable to the practical kind; but the scientific (often called 'Natural Classification'), as the most thorough and comprehensive, is what he keeps most constantly before him.
Purposes are either (α) specific or practical, like gardening or hunting, or (β) general or scientific, like Botany or Zoology. The scientific purpose is simply to gain knowledge; it can support various specific or practical goals, but its sole aim is knowledge itself. Even for the sake of knowledge, different classifications might work better for different types of research, but in Botany and Zoology, the Morphological Classification provides the most general and comprehensive understanding (see Huxley, On the Classification of Animals, ch. 1). Most of what logicians discuss regarding classification applies to the practical kind; however, the scientific (often referred to as 'Natural Classification'), being the most thorough and complete, is what they focus on the most.
Scientific classification comes late in human history, and at first works over earlier classifications which have been made by the growth of intelligence, of language, and of the practical arts. Even in the distinctions recognised by animals, may be traced the grounds of classification: a cat does not confound a dog with one of its own species, nor water with milk, nor cabbage with fish. But it is in the development of language that the progress of instinctive classification may best be seen. The use of general names implies the recognition of classes of things corre[Pg 332]sponding to them, which form their denotation, and whose resembling qualities, so far as recognised, form their connotation; and such names are of many degrees of generality. The use of abstract names shows that the objects classed have also been analysed, and that their resembling qualities have been recognised amidst diverse groups of qualities.
Scientific classification emerged later in human history and initially built upon earlier classifications shaped by the development of intelligence, language, and practical skills. Even animals show some distinctions that hint at classification: a cat doesn’t mistake a dog for another cat, nor does it confuse water with milk or cabbage with fish. The evolution of language best illustrates the advancement of instinctive classification. The use of general names indicates an awareness of classes of things that correspond to them, forming their meaning, while their shared traits, as far as recognized, contribute to their implied meaning; these names can vary in their level of generality. The use of abstract names demonstrates that the categorized objects have been analyzed, recognizing their similar traits among different groups of qualities.
Of the classes marked by popular language it is worth while to distinguish two sorts (cf. chap. xix. § 4): Kinds, and those having but few points of agreement.
Of the classes identified by everyday language, it's important to distinguish between two types (cf. chap. xix. § 4): categories with similarities and those with only a few shared traits.
But the popular classifications, made by language and the primitive arts, are very imperfect. They omit innumerable things which have not been found useful or noxious, or have been inconspicuous, or have not happened to occur in the region inhabited by those who speak a particular language; and even things recognised and named may have been very superficially examined, and therefore wrongly classed, as when a whale or porpoise is called a fish, or a slowworm is confounded with snakes. A scientific classification, on the other hand, aims at the utmost comprehensiveness, ransacking the whole world from the depths of the earth to the remotest star for new objects, and scrutinising everything with the aid of crucible and dissecting knife, microscope and spectroscope, to find the qualities and constitution of everything, in order that it may be classed among those things with which it has most in common and distinguished from those other things from which it differs. A scientific classification continually grows more comprehensive, more discriminative, more definitely and systematically coherent. Hence the uses of classification may be easily perceived.
But popular classifications based on language and basic arts are very flawed. They overlook countless things that aren't seen as useful or harmful, are inconspicuous, or haven't been found in the areas where specific languages are spoken. Even things that are recognized and named may have been examined only superficially and therefore misclassified, like when a whale or porpoise is called a fish, or a slowworm is confused with snakes. A scientific classification, on the other hand, aims for total comprehensiveness, searching the entire world from the depths of the earth to the furthest star for new objects, and analyzing everything with tools like crucibles and dissecting knives, microscopes and spectroscopes, to discover the qualities and makeup of everything so it can be categorized with what it has the most in common and distinguished from what it differs from. A scientific classification continuously becomes more comprehensive, more discerning, and more clearly and systematically structured. Thus, the benefits of classification are easily understood.
§ 2. The first use of classification is the better understanding of the facts of Nature (or of any sphere of practice); for understanding consists in perceiving and comprehending the likeness and difference of things, in assimilating and distinguishing them; and, in carrying [Pg 333]out this process systematically, new correlations of properties are continually disclosed. Thus classification is closely analogous to explanation. Explanation has been shown (chap. xix. § 5) to consist in the discovery of the laws or causes of changes in Nature; and laws and causes imply similarity, or like changes under like conditions: in the same way classification consists in the discovery of resemblances in the things that undergo change. We may say (subject to subsequent qualifications) that Explanation deals with Nature in its dynamic, Classification in its static aspect. In both cases we have a feeling of relief. When the cause of any event is pointed out, or an object is assigned its place in a system of classes, the gaping wonder, or confusion, or perplexity, occasioned by an unintelligible thing, or by a multitude of such things, is dissipated. Some people are more than others susceptible of this pleasure and fastidious about its purity.
§ 2. The main purpose of classification is to better understand the facts of Nature (or any area of practice); understanding involves recognizing and grasping the similarities and differences between things, and categorizing and distinguishing them. By systematically carrying out this process, we continually uncover new relationships among properties. Thus, classification is quite similar to explanation. Explanation has been shown (chap. xix. § 5) to involve discovering the laws or causes of changes in Nature; and laws and causes imply similarity, or similar changes under similar conditions. In the same way, classification involves discovering similarities among things that change. We can say (with the possibility of further qualifications later) that Explanation focuses on Nature in its dynamic state, while Classification deals with it in its static state. In both cases, there is a sense of relief. When the cause of an event is identified, or an object is placed within a system of categories, the confusion or perplexity caused by something incomprehensible, or by many such things, is lifted. Some individuals are more sensitive to this enjoyment and are particular about its clarity.
A second use of classification is to aid the memory. It strengthens memory, because one of the conditions of our recollecting things is, that they resemble what we last thought of; so that to be accustomed to study and think of things in classes must greatly facilitate recollection. But, besides this, a classification enables us easily to run over all the contrasted and related things that we want to think of. Explanation and classification both tend to rationalise the memory, and to organise the mind in correspondence with Nature.
A second use of classification is to help with memory. It improves memory because one of the conditions for us to remember things is that they should resemble what we last thought about; so getting used to studying and thinking about things in categories really helps with recalling information. Additionally, classification allows us to easily review all the contrasting and related things we want to consider. Both explanation and classification help to make our memory more logical and organize our minds in alignment with Nature.
Every one knows how a poor mind is always repeating itself, going by rote through the same train of words, ideas, actions; and that such a mind is neither interesting nor practical. It is not practical, because the circumstances of life are rarely exactly repeated, so that for a present purpose it is rarely enough to remember only one former case; we need several, that by comparing (perhaps automatically) their resemblances and differences with the one before us, we may select a course of action, [Pg 334]or a principle, or a parallel, suited to our immediate needs. Greater fertility and flexibility of thought seem naturally to result from the practice of explanation and classification. But it must be honestly added, that the result depends upon the spirit in which such study is carried on; for if we are too fond of finality, too eager to believe that we have already attained a greater precision and comprehension than are in fact attainable, nothing can be more petrific than 'science,' and our last state may be worse than the first. Of this, students of Logic have often furnished examples.
Everyone knows that a narrow mind keeps repeating itself, going through the same cycle of words, ideas, and actions; and such a mind is neither interesting nor practical. It isn’t practical because life’s circumstances rarely repeat exactly, so for current situations, it’s often not enough to remember just one past example; we need several. By comparing (often automatically) their similarities and differences to the situation at hand, we can choose a course of action, [Pg 334] a principle, or a parallel that fits our immediate needs. Greater creativity and flexibility of thought seem to come from practicing explanation and classification. However, it must be honestly noted that the outcome depends on the attitude we have towards such studies; if we are too attached to finality, too eager to believe we’ve achieved a level of precision and understanding that is actually unattainable, nothing can be more stifling than 'science', and we might end up worse off than we were at the start. Students of Logic have often provided examples of this.
If we begin with some large class, such as 'Animal,' and subdivide it deductively into Vertebrate and Invertebrate, yet the principle of division (namely, central structure) has first been reached by a comparison of examples and by generalisation; if, on the other hand, beginning with individuals, we group them inductively into classes, and these again into wider ones (as dogs, rats, horses, whales and monkeys into mammalia) we are guided both in special cases by hypotheses as to the best grounds of resemblance, and throughout by the general principle of classification—to associate things that are alike and to separate things that are unlike. This principle holds implicitly a place in classification similar to that of causation in explanation; both are principles of intelligence. Here, then, as in proof, induction is implied in deduction, and deduction in induction. Still, the two modes of procedure may be usefully distinguished: in deduction, we proceed from the idea of a whole to its parts, from general to special; in induction, from special (or particular) to general, from parts to the idea of a whole.
If we start with a large category, like 'Animal,' and break it down into Vertebrate and Invertebrate, the basis for this division (which is central structure) was first established by comparing examples and generalizing; on the other hand, if we take individual animals and group them inductively into categories, and then further into broader categories (like dogs, rats, horses, whales, and monkeys into mammals), we are guided in specific cases by theories about the best grounds for similarities, and consistently by the overarching principle of classification—grouping similar things together and separating those that are different. This principle plays a role in classification similar to how causation functions in explanation; both are fundamental principles of intelligence. Here, as shown in proof, induction is implied in deduction, and deduction in induction. Still, the two methods of reasoning can be usefully distinguished: in deduction, we move from the idea of the whole to its parts, from the general to the specific; in induction, we move from specific instances to a general idea, from parts to the concept of a whole.

Given any class (A) to be divided:
Given any class (A) to be split:
1. Select one important character, attribute, or quality (B), not common to all the individuals comprehended in the class, as the basis of division (fundamentum divisionis).
1. Choose one significant character, trait, or quality (B) that isn't shared by everyone in the group as the basis for your categorization (fundamentum divisionis).
2. Proceed by Dichotomy; that is, cut the given class into two, one having the selected attribute (say, B), the other not having it (b). This, like all formal processes, assumes the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle, that 'No A is both B and not-B,' and that 'Every A is either B or not-B' (chap. vi. § 3); and if these principles are not true, or not applicable, the method fails.
2. Proceed by Dichotomy; that is, split the given class into two, one with the chosen attribute (let's say, B), the other without it (b). This, like all formal processes, relies on the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle, meaning 'No A can be both B and not-B,' and that 'Every A is either B or not-B' (chap. vi. § 3); and if these principles aren't true or don't apply, the method fails.
When a class is thus subdivided, it may be called, in relation to its subclasses, a Genus; and in relation to it, the subclasses may be called Species: thus—genus A, species AB and Ab, etc.
When a class is divided this way, it can be referred to, in relation to its subclasses, as a Genus; and in relation to it, the subclasses can be called Species: so—genus A, species AB and Ab, etc.
3. Proceed gradually in the order of the importance of characters; that is, having divided the given class, subdivide on the same principle the two classes thence arising; and so again and again, step by step, until all the characters are exhausted: Divisio ne fiat per saltum.
3. Move forward gradually based on the importance of the characters; that is, after dividing the given group, further divide the two resulting groups using the same principle; and continue doing this step by step until all the characters are covered: Divisio ne fiat per saltum.
Suppose we were to attempt an exhaustive classification of things by this method, we must begin with 'All Things,' and divide them (say) into phenomenal and not-phenomenal, and then subdivide phenomena, and so on, thus:
Suppose we were to try a thorough classification of things using this method, we should start with 'All Things' and split them into phenomenal and non-phenomenal, then further divide phenomena, and so on, like this:

Having subdivided 'Simple' by all possible characters, we must then go back and similarly subdivide Not-phenomenal, Unextended, Not-resistant, Not-gravitating, and Compound. Now, if we knew all possible characters, and the order of their importance, we might prepare a priori a classification of all possible things; at least, of all things that come under the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle. Many of our compartments might contain nothing actual; there may, for example, be nothing that is not phenomenal to some mind, or nothing that is extended and not-resistant (no vacuum), and so forth. This would imply a breach of the rule, that the dividing quality be not common to the whole class; but, in fact, doubts have been, and are, seriously entertained whether these compartments are filled or not. If they are not, we have concepts representing nothing, which have been generated by the mere force of grammatical negation, or by the habit of thinking according to the principle of Excluded Middle; and, on the strength of these empty concepts, we have been misled into dividing by an attribute, which (being universal) cannot be a fundamentum [Pg 337]divisionis. But though in such a classification places might be empty, there would be a place for everything; for whatever did not come into some positive class (such as Gravitating) must fall under one of the negative classes (the 'Nots') that run down the right-hand side of the Table and of its subdivisions.
Having subdivided 'Simple' by all possible characteristics, we must then go back and similarly subdivide Not-phenomenal, Unextended, Not-resistant, Not-gravitating, and Compound. Now, if we knew all possible characteristics and their order of importance, we might be able to create a classification of all possible things a priori; at least, of all things that align with the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle. Many of our categories might contain nothing actual; for example, there may be nothing that is not phenomenal to some mind, or nothing that is extended and not-resistant (no vacuum), and so on. This would imply a violation of the rule that the dividing quality should not be common to the entire class; however, doubts have been, and continue to be, seriously considered regarding whether these categories are filled or not. If they are not, we have concepts that represent nothing, created simply through grammatical negation or through the habit of thinking based on the principle of Excluded Middle. Relying on these empty concepts, we have been misled into dividing by an attribute that, being universal, cannot be a fundamentum [Pg 337]divisionis. But even if some places in such a classification might be empty, there would still be a spot for everything; for anything that doesn’t fit into some positive class (like Gravitating) must fall into one of the negative classes (the 'Nots') that extend down the right-hand side of the Table and its subdivisions.
This is the ideal of classification. Unfortunately we have to learn what characters or attributes are possible, by experience and comparison; we are far from knowing them all: and we do not know the order of their importance; nor are we even clear what 'important' means in this context, whether 'widely prevalent,' or 'ancient,' or 'causally influential,' or 'indicative of others.' Hence, in classifying actual things, we must follow the inductive method of beginning with particulars, and sorting them according to their likeness and difference as discovered by investigation. The exceptional cases, in which deduction is really useful, occur where certain limits to the number and combination of qualities happen to be known, as they may be in human institutions, or where there are mathematical conditions. Thus, we might be able to classify orders of Architecture, or the classical metres and stanzas of English poetry; though, in fact, these things are too free, subtle and complex for deductive treatment: for do not the Arts grow like trees? The only sure cases are mathematical; as we may show that there are possible only three kinds of plane triangles, four conic sections, five regular solids.
This is the goal of classification. Unfortunately, we have to learn what characteristics or attributes are possible through experience and comparison; we definitely don’t know them all, and we don’t understand the order of their importance. We’re not even clear on what "important" means in this context—whether it refers to being "widely prevalent," "ancient," "causally influential," or "indicative of others." So, when classifying actual things, we have to use the inductive method of starting with specific examples and sorting them based on their similarities and differences as discovered through investigation. The exceptional cases where deduction is genuinely useful occur when certain limits to the number and combination of qualities are known, as they might be in human institutions, or when there are mathematical conditions. For instance, we could classify different styles of architecture or the classical meters and stanzas of English poetry; however, these subjects are generally too free, subtle, and complex for deductive analysis because, after all, don’t the arts grow like trees? The only clear cases are mathematical; we can demonstrate that there are only three types of plane triangles, four conic sections, and five regular solids.
1. Each Sub-class, or Species, should comprise less than the Class, or Genus, to be divided. This provides that the division shall be a real one, and not based upon an attribute common to the whole class; that, therefore, the first rule for making a division shall have been adhered to. But, as in § 4, we are here met by a logical difficulty. Suppose that the class to be divided is A, and that we attempt to divide upon the attribute B, into AB and Ab; [Pg 338]is this a true division, if we do not know any A that is not B? As far as our knowledge extends, we have not divided A at all. On the other hand, our knowledge of concrete things is never exhaustive; so that, although we know of no A that is not B, it may yet exist, and we have seen that it is a logical caution not to assume what we do not know. In a deductive classification, at least, it seems better to regard every attribute as a possible ground of division. Hence, in the above division of 'All Things,'—'Not-phenomenal,' 'Extended-Not-resistant,' 'Resistant-Not-gravitating,' appear as negative classes (that is, classes based on the negation of an attribute), although their real existence may be doubtful. But, if this be justifiable, we must either rewrite the first test of a division thus: 'Each sub-class should possibly comprise less than the class to be divided'; or else we must confine the test to (a) thoroughly empirical divisions, as in dividing Colour into Red and Not-red, where we know that both sub-classes are real; and (b) divisions under demonstrable conditions—as in dividing the three kinds of triangles by the quality equilateral, we know that it is only applicable to acute-angled triangles, and do not attempt to divide the right-angled or obtuse-angled by it.
1. Each sub-class or species should contain fewer members than the class or genus being divided. This ensures that the division is meaningful and not just based on a trait shared by the entire class; therefore, the first rule for making a division should be followed. However, as noted in § 4, we face a logical challenge here. Let's say the class to be divided is A, and we try to divide it based on the trait B, resulting in AB and Ab; [Pg 338] is this a valid division if we don’t know of any A that isn’t B? From what we know, we haven't really divided A at all. Conversely, our knowledge of concrete things is never complete; thus, even if we don’t know of any A that isn’t B, it could still exist, and it’s a logical precaution not to assume what we don’t know. In a deductive classification, at least, it seems better to treat every attribute as a potential basis for division. Therefore, in the earlier division of 'All Things,' - 'Not-phenomenal,' 'Extended-Not-resistant,' and 'Resistant-Not-gravitating' show up as negative classes (meaning classes defined by the absence of an attribute), even if their actual existence might be questionable. But if this is acceptable, we must either restate the first criterion for division as: 'Each sub-class should possibly contain fewer members than the class being divided'; or we should limit the criterion to (a) completely empirical divisions, like splitting Color into Red and Not-red, where we are certain both sub-classes exist; and (b) divisions based on demonstrable conditions—like differentiating the three types of triangles by the quality of being equilateral, knowing it only applies to acute-angled triangles and not attempting to divide right-angled or obtuse-angled triangles based on that.
2. The Sub-classes taken together should be equal to the Class to be divided: the sum of the Species constitutes the Genus. This provides that the division shall be exhaustive; which dichotomy always secures, according to the principle of Excluded Middle; because whatever is not in the positive class, must be in the negative: Red and Not-red include all colours.
2. The Sub-classes combined should equal the Class being divided: the total of the Species makes up the Genus. This ensures that the division is complete; this binary division always guarantees that, based on the principle of Excluded Middle; because whatever isn't in the positive class must be in the negative: Red and Not-red cover all colors.
3. The Sub-classes must be opposed or mutually exclusive: Species must not overlap. This again is secured by dichotomy, according to the principle of Contradiction, provided the division be made upon one attribute at a time. But, if we attempt to divide simultaneously upon two attributes, as 'Musicians' upon 'nationality' and[Pg 339] 'method,' we get what is called a Cross-division, thus 'German Musicians.' 'Not-German,' 'Classical,' 'Not-Classical;' for these classes may overlap, the same men sometimes appearing in two groups—Bach in 'German' and 'Classical,' Pergolesi in 'Not-German' and 'Classical.' If, however, we divide Musicians upon these attributes successively, cross division will be avoided, thus:
3. The sub-classes must be distinct or mutually exclusive: species should not overlap. This is achieved through dichotomy, based on the principle of contradiction, as long as the division is made using only one attribute at a time. However, if we try to divide based on two attributes at the same time, like 'Musicians' by 'nationality' and 'method,' we create what is known as a cross-division, resulting in terms like 'German Musicians.' 'Not-German,' 'Classical,' 'Not-Classical;' because these classes can overlap, with the same individuals appearing in two groups—Bach in 'German' and 'Classical,' Pergolesi in 'Not-German' and 'Classical.' But if we divide Musicians using these attributes sequentially, cross-division will be avoided, as follows:

Here no Musician will be found in two classes, unless he has written works in two styles, or unless there are works whose style is undecided. This "unless—or unless" may suggest caution in using dichotomy as a short cut to the classification of realities.
Here, no musician will be found in two categories, unless they've created works in two styles, or unless there are works whose style is uncertain. This "unless—or unless" might indicate being careful when using a clear-cut division to classify realities.
4. No Sub-class must include anything that is not comprised in the class to be divided: the Genus comprises all the Species. We must not divide Dogs into fox-terriers and dog-fish.
4. No sub-class should include anything that isn't part of the class being divided: the genus includes all the species. We shouldn't classify dogs as fox-terriers and dog-fish.
Given any multitude of individuals to be classified:
Given any group of individuals to be classified:
(1) Place together in groups (or in thought) those things that have in common the most, the most widely diffused and the most important qualities.
(1) Group together (or think about) those things that share the most common, widespread, and significant qualities.
(2) Connect those groups which have, as groups, the greater resemblance, and separate those that have the greater difference.
(2) Connect the groups that are more similar and separate those that are more different.
(3) Demarcate, as forming higher or more general classes, those groups of groups that have important characters in common; and, if possible, on the same principle, form these higher classes into classes higher still: that is to say, graduate the classification upwards.
(3) Define, as creating broader or more general categories, those groups of groups that share significant common traits; and, if possible, based on the same principle, organize these broader categories into even higher levels: in other words, elevate the classification systematically.
Whilst in Division the terms 'Genus' and 'Species' are entirely relative to one another and have no fixed positions in a gradation of classes, it has been usual, in Inductive Classification, to confine the term 'Species' to classes regarded as lowest in the scale, to give the term 'Genera' to classes on the step above, and at each higher step to find some new term such as 'Tribe,' 'Order,' 'Sub-kingdom,' 'Kingdom'; as may be seen by turning to any book on Botany or Zoology. If, having fixed our Species, we find them subdivisible, it is usual to call the Sub-species 'Varieties.'
While in Division the terms 'Genus' and 'Species' are completely relative to each other and don't have fixed positions in a hierarchy of classes, it's common in Inductive Classification to limit the term 'Species' to classes considered the lowest in the hierarchy, assign the term 'Genera' to classes one step higher, and at each higher level find new terms like 'Tribe,' 'Order,' 'Sub-kingdom,' and 'Kingdom'; as can be seen in any book on Botany or Zoology. If we define our Species and find them divisible, it's common to refer to the Sub-species as 'Varieties.'
Suppose an attempt to classify by this method the objects in a sitting-room. We see at a glance carpets, mats, curtains, grates, fire-irons, coal-scuttles, chairs, sofas, tables, books, pictures, musical instruments, etc. These may be called 'Species.' Carpets and mats go together; so do chairs and sofas; so do grates, fire-irons, and coal-scuttles and so on. These greater groups, or higher classes, are 'Genera.' Putting together carpets, mats and curtains as 'warmth-fabrics'; chairs, sofas and tables as 'supports'; books, pictures and musical instruments as 'means of culture'; these groups we may call Orders. Sum up the whole as, from the housewife's point of view, 'furniture.' If we then subdivide some of the species, as books into poetry, novels, travels, etc., these Sub-species may be considered 'Varieties.'
Imagine trying to categorize the items in a living room using this method. We can quickly identify carpets, mats, curtains, grates, fire tools, coal containers, chairs, sofas, tables, books, pictures, musical instruments, etc. These can be referred to as 'Species.' Carpets and mats belong together; so do chairs and sofas; and grates, fire tools, and coal containers fit into another category, and so on. These larger groups, or higher categories, are 'Genera.' By grouping carpets, mats, and curtains as 'warmth-fabrics'; chairs, sofas, and tables as 'supports'; and books, pictures, and musical instruments as 'means of culture'; we can refer to these groups as Orders. Altogether, from the perspective of a homemaker, we might call this 'furniture.' If we further divide some of the species, such as books into poetry, novels, travel, etc., these Sub-species can be thought of as 'Varieties.'
A Classification thus made, may be tested by the same rules as those given for testing a Division; but if it does not stand the test, we must not infer that the classification is a bad one. If the best possible, it is good, though formally imperfect: whatever faults are found must then be charged upon the 'matter,' which is traditionally perverse and intractable. If, for example, there is a hammock in the room, it must be classed not with the curtains as a warmth-fabric, but with the sofas as a support; and books and pictures may be classed as, in a peculiar sense, means of culture, though all the objects in the room may [Pg 341]have been modified and assorted with a view to gratifying and developing good taste.
A classification like this can be assessed using the same criteria applied to a division; however, if it doesn’t pass the test, we shouldn’t conclude that the classification is poor. Even if it’s the best possible, it can still be good, despite being formally flawed: any issues found should then be attributed to the 'matter,' which is traditionally difficult and unmanageable. For instance, if there’s a hammock in the room, it should be categorized with the sofas as a supportive item rather than with the curtains as a warmth-fabric. Likewise, books and pictures can be classified as, in a unique way, means of culture, even if all the items in the room have been organized with the aim of satisfying and enhancing good taste.
§ 7. The difficulty of classifying natural objects is very great. It is not enough to consider their external appearance: exhaustive knowledge of their internal structure is necessary, and of the functions of every part of their structure. This is a matter of immense research, and has occupied many of the greatest minds for very many years. The following is a tabular outline of the classification of the
§ 7. Classifying natural objects is quite challenging. It’s not enough to look at how they appear on the outside; we also need a thorough understanding of their internal structure and the functions of each part. This requires extensive research and has engaged many brilliant thinkers for many years. The following is a tabular outline of the classification of the

As there is not space enough to tabulate such a classification in full, I have developed at each step the most interesting groups: Vertebrates, Mammalia, Monodelphia Carnivora, Digitigrada, Felidæ, Lion. Most of the other groups in each grade are also subdivisible, though some of them contain far fewer sub-classes than others.
As there isn’t enough space to list this classification in full, I’ve highlighted the most interesting groups at each level: Vertebrates, Mammals, Monodelphia, Carnivores, Digitigrade, Felidae, Lion. Most of the other groups in each category can also be divided further, although some have significantly fewer sub-classes than others.
To see the true character of this classification, we must consider that it is based chiefly upon knowledge of existing animals. Some extinct animals, known by their fossils, find places in it; for others new places have been made. But it represents, on the whole, a cross-section, or cross-sections of Nature as developing in time; and, in order to give a just view of the relations of animals, it must be seen in the light of other considerations. The older systems of classification, and the rules for making them, seem to have assumed that an actual system of classes, or of what Mill calls 'Kinds,' exists in nature, and that the relations of Kinds in this system are determined by quantity of resemblance in co-inherent qualities, as the ground of their affinity.
To understand the true nature of this classification, we need to recognize that it's mainly based on knowledge of living animals. Some extinct animals, identified through their fossils, are included, while others have been assigned new categories. Overall, it reflects a snapshot of Nature as it evolves over time; to accurately depict the relationships among animals, we need to consider additional factors. The earlier classification systems and their rules seemed to operate under the assumption that a real system of classes, or what Mill refers to as 'Kinds,' exists in nature, and that the relationships among these Kinds are determined by the degree of similarity in their inherent qualities, which forms the basis for their connections.
§ 8. Darwin's doctrine of the origin of species affects the conception of natural classification in several ways, (1) If all living things are blood-relations, modified in the course of ages according to their various conditions of life, 'affinity' must mean 'nearness of common descent'; and it seems irrational to propose a classification upon any other basis. We have to consider the Animal (or the Vegetable) Kingdom as a family tree, exhibiting a long line of ancestors, and (descended from them) all sorts of cousins, first, second, third, etc., perhaps once, twice, or oftener 'removed.' Animals in the relation of first cousins must be classed as nearer than second cousins, and so on.
§ 8. Darwin's theory on the origin of species changes how we think about natural classification in a few ways. (1) If all living things are related by blood, modified over time based on their different living conditions, then 'affinity' should mean 'closeness of common ancestry'; it seems unreasonable to base any classification on anything else. We need to view the Animal (or Vegetable) Kingdom as a family tree, showing a long line of ancestors and all sorts of cousins, first, second, third, etc., possibly once, twice, or more times 'removed.' Animals that are first cousins should be classified as closer than second cousins, and so on.
But, if we accept this principle, and are able to trace relationship, it may not lead to the same results as would be reached by simply relying upon the present 'quantity [Pg 343]of resemblance,' unless we understand this in a very particular way. For the most obvious features of an animal may have been recently acquired; which often happens with those characters that adapt an animal to its habits of life, as the wings of a bat, or the fish-like shape of a dolphin; or as in cases of 'mimicry.' Some butterflies, snakes, etc., have grown to resemble closely, in a superficial way, other butterflies and snakes, from which a stricter investigation widely separates them; and this superficial resemblance is probably a recent acquisition, for the sake of protection; the imitated butterflies being nauseous, and the imitated snakes poisonous. On the other hand, ancient and important traits of structure may, in some species, have dwindled into inconspicuous survivals or be still found only in the embryo; so that only great knowledge and sagacity can identify them; yet upon ancient traits, though hidden, classification depends. The seal seems nearer allied to the porpoise than to the tiger, the shrew nearer to the mouse than to the hedgehog; and the Tasmanian wolf looks more like a true wolf, the Tasmanian devil more like a badger, than like a kangaroo: yet the seal is nearer akin to the tiger, the shrew to the hedgehog, and the Tasmanian flesh-eaters are marsupial, like the kangaroo. To overcome this difficulty we must understand the resemblance upon which classification is based to include resemblance of Causation, that is, the fact itself of descent from common ancestors. For organic beings, all other rules of classification are subordinate to one: trace the genealogy of every form.
But if we accept this principle and can trace relationships, it may not lead to the same conclusions as simply relying on the current "quantity of resemblance," unless we understand this in a very specific way. The most obvious features of an animal may have been recently acquired, which often occurs with traits that help an animal adapt to its lifestyle, like the wings of a bat or the fish-like shape of a dolphin, or in cases of "mimicry." Some butterflies, snakes, etc., have come to closely resemble, on a superficial level, other butterflies and snakes, from which a deeper investigation would separate them. This superficial resemblance is probably a recent development for protection, as the butterflies they mimic are unpleasant and the snakes they imitate are poisonous. On the other hand, ancient and significant traits of structure might have diminished into unnoticeable remnants or may only be found in embryos, so considerable knowledge and insight are required to identify them; yet classifications rely on these ancient traits, even if they are hidden. The seal seems more closely related to the porpoise than to the tiger, the shrew seems closer to the mouse than to the hedgehog, and the Tasmanian wolf looks more like a true wolf, while the Tasmanian devil resembles a badger more than a kangaroo. Yet, in reality, the seal is more closely related to the tiger, the shrew to the hedgehog, and the Tasmanian predators are marsupials, like the kangaroo. To address this issue, we need to understand that the resemblance upon which classification is based should include the resemblance of causation, meaning the fact of descent from common ancestors. For living organisms, all other classification rules are subordinate to one: trace the genealogy of every form.
By this rule we get a definite meaning for the phrase 'important or fundamental attribute' as determining organic classes; namely, most ancient, or 'best serving to indicate community of origin.' Grades of classification will be determined by such fundamental characters, and may correspond approximately to the more general types (now extinct) from which existing animals have descended.
By this rule, we get a clear meaning for the phrase 'important or fundamental attribute' in relation to defining organic classes, specifically, the most ancient or the traits that best indicate a shared origin. Classification levels will be based on these fundamental characteristics and may roughly align with the more general types (now extinct) from which current animals have evolved.
(2) By the hypothesis of development the fixity of species is discredited. The lowest grade of a classification is made up not of well-defined types unchanging from age to age, but of temporary species, often connected by uncertain and indistinct varieties: some of which may, in turn, if the conditions of their existence alter, undergo such changes as to produce new species. Hence the notion that Kinds exist in organic nature must be greatly modified. During a given period of a few thousand years, Kinds may be recognised, because, under such conditions as now prevail in the world, that period of time is insufficient to bring about great changes. But, if it be true that lions, tigers, and leopards have had a common ancestor, from whose type they have gradually diverged, it is plain that their present distinctness results only from the death of intermediate specimens and the destruction of intermediate varieties. Were it possible to restore, by the evidence of fossils, all the ranks of the great processions that have descended from the common ancestor, there would nowhere occur a greater difference than between offspring and parents; and the appearance of Kinds existing in nature, which is so striking in a museum or zoological garden, would entirely vanish.
(2) According to the theory of evolution, the idea that species remain unchanged is outdated. The lowest level of classification consists not of clearly defined types that stay the same over time, but of temporary species, often linked by vague and unclear varieties. Some of these might, if their living conditions change, evolve into new species. Therefore, the idea that distinct types exist in nature needs to be adjusted. Over a few thousand years, we can recognize types because the current conditions don't allow for significant changes in that period. However, if it's true that lions, tigers, and leopards share a common ancestor from which they have gradually diverged, it’s clear that their current differences are the result of the extinction of intermediate forms and the disappearance of transitional varieties. If we could trace back through fossils all the stages that descended from the common ancestor, the differences wouldn't be greater than between parents and their offspring, and the distinct types we see in nature, which are so striking in a museum or zoo, would completely disappear.
A classification, then, as formerly observed, represents a cross-section of nature as developing in time: could we begin at the beginning and follow this development down the course of time, we should find no classes, but an ever-moving, changing, spreading, branching continuum. It may be represented thus: Suppose an animal (or plant) A, extending over a certain geographical area, subject to different influences and conditions of climate, food, hill and plain, wood and prairie, enemies and rivals, and undergoing modifications here and there in adaptation to the varying conditions of life: then varieties appear. These varieties, diverging more and more, become distinct species (AB, AC, AD, AX). Some of these species, the [Pg 345]more widely diffused, again produce varieties; which, in turn become species (ABE, ABF, ADG, ADH). From these, again, ABE, ABFI, ABFJ, AC, ADHK, ADHL, ADHM, the extant species, descend.
A classification, as previously noted, shows a snapshot of nature as it evolves over time: if we could start at the beginning and trace this evolution over time, we would find no classes, but rather a constantly moving, changing, expanding, and branching continuum. It can be illustrated like this: Imagine an animal (or plant) A, existing across a specific geographical area, influenced by various factors such as climate, food, hills and plains, forests and prairies, predators, and competitors, and undergoing changes here and there to adapt to different life conditions: then varieties emerge. These varieties, diverging further, become distinct species (AB, AC, AD, AX). Some of these species, the [Pg 345]more broadly spread, again produce varieties; which, in turn, become species (ABE, ABF, ADG, ADH). From these come the existing species, ABE, ABFI, ABFJ, AC, ADHK, ADHL, ADHM.

If in this age a classifier appears, he finds seven living species, which can be grouped into four genera (ABE, ABF, AC, ADH), and these again into three Families (AB, AC, AD), all forming one Order. But the animals which were their ancestors are all extinct. If the fossils of any of them—say AB, ADG and AX—can be found, he has three more species, one more genus (ADG), and one more family (AX). For AC, which has persisted unchanged, and AX, which has become extinct, are both of them Families, each represented by only one species. It seems necessary to treat such ancient types as species on a level with extant forms; but the naturalist draws our attention to their archaic characteristics, and tries to explain their places in the order of evolution and their relationships.
If a classifier shows up in today’s world, they find seven living species that can be sorted into four genera (ABE, ABF, AC, ADH), which can also be grouped into three families (AB, AC, AD), all making up one order. However, all the animals that were their ancestors are extinct. If fossils of any of them—let's say AB, ADG, and AX—are discovered, they have three more species, one additional genus (ADG), and one more family (AX). For AC, which has remained unchanged, and AX, which has gone extinct, both are families, each with only one species. It seems necessary to regard such ancient types as species on par with living forms; however, the naturalist points out their primitive features and attempts to clarify their roles in the evolution sequence and their connections.
But now suppose that he could find a fossil specimen of every generation (hundreds of thousands of generations), from ABFI, etc., up to A; then, as each generation would only differ from the preceding as offspring from parents, he would be unable at any point to distinguish a species; [Pg 346]at most, he would observe a slightly marked variety. ABFI and ABFJ would grow more and more alike, until they became indistinguishable in ABF; ABF and ABE would merge into AB; AB, AC, AD and AX would merge into A. Hence, the appearance of species is due to our taking cross-sections of time, or comparing forms that belong to periods remote from one another (like AX, ADG, and ADHK, or AD, ADH and ADHK), and this appearance of species depends upon the destruction of ancestral intermediate forms.
But now imagine if he could find a fossil specimen from every generation (hundreds of thousands of generations), from ABFI, etc., up to A; then, since each generation would only differ from the one before it like offspring from their parents, he wouldn't be able to distinguish a species at any point; [Pg 346]at most, he would notice a slightly different variety. ABFI and ABFJ would become more and more similar until they became indistinguishable in ABF; ABF and ABE would merge into AB; AB, AC, AD, and AX would combine into A. Therefore, the appearance of species is a result of us taking snapshots of time, or comparing forms from vastly different periods (like AX, ADG, and ADHK, or AD, ADH, and ADHK), and this perception of species relies on the loss of ancestral intermediate forms.
(3) The hypothesis of development modifies the logical character of classification: it no longer consists in a direct induction of co-inherent characters, but is largely a deduction of these from the characters of earlier forms, together with the conditions of variation; in other words, the definition of a species must, with the progress of science, cease to be a mere empirical law of co-inherence and become a derivative law of Causation. But this was already implied in the position that causation is the fundamental principle of the explanation of concrete things; and accordingly, the derivative character of species or kinds extends beyond organic nature.
(3) The idea of development changes how we classify things: it’s not just about directly observing shared traits anymore, but mostly about deducing these traits from the characteristics of earlier forms along with the conditions of change. In other words, as science advances, the definition of a species should move away from just being an empirical law of shared traits and become a derived law of causation. This notion is already rooted in the understanding that causation is the essential principle for explaining concrete entities; thus, the derived nature of species or types goes beyond just the organic world.
§ 9. The classification of inorganic bodies also depends on causation. There is the physical classification into Solids, Liquids, and Gases. But these states of matter are dependent on temperature; at different temperatures, the same body may exist in all three states. They cannot therefore be defined as solid, liquid, or gaseous absolutely, but only within certain degrees of temperature, and therefore as dependent upon causation. Similarly, the geological classification of rocks, according to relative antiquity (primary, secondary, tertiary, with their subdivisions), and mode of formation (igneous and aqueous), rests upon causation; and so does the chemical classification of compound bodies according to the elements that enter into them in definite proportions. Hence, only the [Pg 347]classification of the elements themselves (amongst concrete things), at present, depends largely upon empirical Coinherence. If the elements remain irresolvable into anything simpler, the definitions of the co-inherent characters that distinguish them must be reckoned amongst the ultimate Uniformities of Nature. But if a definite theory of their origin both generally and severally, whether out of ether-vortices, or groups of electric corpuscles, or whatnot, shall ever gain acceptance, similarity of genesis or causation will naturally be the leading consideration in classifying the chemical elements. To find common principles of causation, therefore, constitutes the verification of every Natural Classification. The ultimate explanation of nature is always causation; the Law of Causation is the backbone of the system of Experience.
§ 9. The classification of inorganic substances also relies on causation. There's the physical classification into Solids, Liquids, and Gases. However, these states of matter depend on temperature; at different temperatures, the same substance can exist in all three states. So, they can't be defined as solid, liquid, or gaseous absolutely, but only within certain temperature ranges, making them dependent on causation. Similarly, the geological classification of rocks, based on relative age (primary, secondary, tertiary, and their subdivisions) and mode of formation (igneous and aqueous), is based on causation; the same goes for the chemical classification of compounds according to the elements that make them up in specific proportions. Therefore, only the [Pg 347]classification of the elements themselves (among concrete things) currently relies heavily on empirical Coinherence. If the elements cannot be broken down into anything simpler, the definitions of their co-inherent characteristics must be considered among the ultimate Uniformities of Nature. But if a clear theory of their origin, whether from ether vortices, groups of electric particles, or something else, ever gains acceptance, similarity in origin or causation will naturally become the main focus in classifying the chemical elements. Thus, finding common principles of causation is what validates every Natural Classification. The ultimate explanation of nature is always causation; the Law of Causation is the foundation of the system of Experience.
CHAPTER XXII
NOMENCLATURE, DEFINITION, PREDICABLES
§ 1. Precision of thought needs precision of language for the recording of such thought and for communicating it to others. We can often remember with great vividness persons, things, landscapes, changes and actions of persons or things, without the aid of language (though words are often mixed with such trains of imagery), and by this means may form judgments and inferences in particular cases; but for general notions, judgments and inferences, not merely about this or that man, or thing, but about all men or all kinds of things, we need something besides the few images we can form of them from observation. Even if we possess generic images, say, of 'horse' or 'cat' (that is, images formed, like composite photographs, by a coalescence of the images of all the horses or cats we have seen, so that their common properties stand out and their differences frustrate and cancel one another), these are useless for precise thought; for the generic image will not correspond with the general appearance of horse or cat, unless we have had proportional experience of all varieties and have been impartially interested in all; and, besides, what we want for general thought is not a generic image of the appearance of things, though it were much more definite and fairly representative than such images ever are, but a general representation of their important characters; which may be connected with internal organs, such as none but an anatomist ever sees. We require a [Pg 349]symbol connected with the general character of a thing, or quality, or process, as scientifically determined, whose representative truth may be trusted in ordinary cases, or may be verified whenever doubt arises. Such symbols are for most purposes provided by language; Mathematics and Chemistry have their own symbols.
§ 1. To think clearly, we need clear language to record our thoughts and share them with others. We can often vividly remember people, things, landscapes, changes, and actions—sometimes without using words, although words often accompany these memories. This allows us to form judgments and conclusions about specific cases; however, to understand general ideas, judgments, and conclusions—not just about individual people or things, but about all people or categories of things—we need more than the few images we can create from what we've seen. Even if we have generic images, like 'horse' or 'cat' (that is, images formed by combining all the horses or cats we've encountered, highlighting their common traits while blurring their differences), these are not enough for clear thought. A generic image won't accurately represent the overall appearance of a horse or cat unless we've seen a balanced variety and remained genuinely interested in all of them. Moreover, what we need for broad thinking isn't just a generic image of how things appear, even if it's clearer and more representative than typical images. Instead, we need a general idea of their key characteristics, which might be related to internal structures that only someone with anatomical knowledge would notice. We need a [Pg 349]symbol that reflects the general nature of a thing, quality, or process, determined scientifically, whose representative truth we can rely on in most cases or verify when uncertainty arises. Language often provides these symbols, while Math and Chemistry have their specific symbols.
§ 2. First there should be "a name for every important meaning": (a) A Nomenclature, or system of the names of all classes of objects, adapted to the use of each science. Thus, in Geology there are names for classes of rocks and strata, in Chemistry for the elements and their compounds, in Zoology and Botany for the varieties and species of animals and plants, their genera, families and orders.
§ 2. First, there should be "a name for every important meaning": (a) A nomenclature, or a system of names for all classes of objects, suited to the needs of each science. For example, in Geology, there are names for different types of rocks and layers; in Chemistry, there are names for elements and their compounds; and in Zoology and Botany, there are names for the various species and kinds of animals and plants, as well as their genera, families, and orders.
To have such names, however, is not the whole aim in forming a scientific language; it is desirable that they should be systematically significant, and even elegant. Names, like other instruments, ought to be efficient, and the efficiency of names consists in conveying the most meaning with the least effort. In Botany and Zoology this result is obtained by giving to each species a composite name which includes that of the genus to which it belongs. The species of Felidæ given in chap. xvii. § 7, are called Felis leo (lion), Felis tigris (tiger), Felis leopardus (leopard), Felis concolor (puma), Felis lyncus (European lynx), Felis catus (wild cat). In Chemistry, the nomenclature is extremely efficient. Names of the simpler compounds are formed by combining the names of the elements that enter into them; as Hydrogen Chloride, Hydrogen Sulphide, Carbon Dioxide; and these can be given still more briefly and efficiently in symbols, as HCl, H2S, CO2. The symbolic letters are usually initials of the names of the elements: as C = Carbon, S = Sulphur; sometimes of the Latin name, when the common name is English, as Fe = Iron. Each letter represents a fixed quantity of the element for which it stands, viz., the atomic weight. The number written below a symbol on the right-hand side [Pg 350]shows how many atoms of the element denoted enter into a molecule of the compound.
Having such names, however, isn't the only goal in creating a scientific language; it’s important that they are both systematically meaningful and even elegant. Names, like other tools, should be effective, and the effectiveness of names lies in their ability to convey the most meaning with the least effort. In Botany and Zoology, this is achieved by giving each species a composite name that includes the name of its genus. The species of Felidae listed in chap. xvii. § 7 are called Felis leo (lion), Felis tigris (tiger), Felis leopardus (leopard), Felis concolor (puma), Felis lyncus (European lynx), and Felis catus (wild cat). In Chemistry, the naming system is very efficient. The names of simpler compounds are formed by combining the names of the elements that make them up, such as Hydrogen Chloride, Hydrogen Sulphide, and Carbon Dioxide; and these can be expressed even more concisely with symbols, like HCl, H2S, CO2. The symbols typically use initials from the names of the elements: C = Carbon, S = Sulphur; and sometimes from their Latin names when the common name is in English, like Fe = Iron. Each letter represents a specific quantity of the element it signifies, specifically, the atomic weight. The number written below a symbol on the right side [Pg 350]indicates how many atoms of the represented element are present in a molecule of the compound.
(b) A Terminology is next required, in order to describe and define the things that constitute the classes designated by the nomenclature, and to describe and explain their actions.
(b) Next, a terminology is needed to describe and define the things that make up the classes identified by the nomenclature, and to explain their actions.
(i) A name for every integral part of an object, as head, limb, vertebra, heart, nerve, tendon; stalk, leaf, corolla, stamen, pistil; plinth, frieze, etc. (ii) A name for every metaphysical part or abstract quality of an object, and for its degrees and modes; as extension, figure, solidity, weight; rough, smooth, elastic, friable; the various colours, red, blue, yellow, in all their shades and combinations and so with sounds, smells, tastes, temperatures. The terms of Geometry are employed to describe the modes of figure, as angular, curved, square, elliptical; and the terms of Arithmetic to express the degrees of weight, elasticity, temperature, pitch of sound. When other means fail, qualities are suggested by the names of things which exhibit them in a salient way; figures by such terms as amphitheatre, bowl-like, pear-shaped, egg-shaped; colours by lias-blue, sky-blue, gentian-blue, peacock-blue; and similarly with sounds, smells and tastes. It is also important to express by short terms complex qualities, as harmony, fragrance, organisation, sex, symmetry, stratification.
(i) A name for every essential part of an object, like head, limb, vertebra, heart, nerve, tendon; stalk, leaf, petal, stamen, pistil; base, frieze, etc. (ii) A name for every metaphysical part or abstract quality of an object, along with its degrees and modes; such as extension, shape, solidity, weight; rough, smooth, elastic, crumbly; the various colors, red, blue, yellow, in all their shades and combinations, and the same goes for sounds, smells, tastes, and temperatures. The terms of geometry are used to describe the types of shapes, like angular, curved, square, elliptical; and arithmetic terms express the degrees of weight, elasticity, temperature, and pitch of sound. When other methods fail, qualities are suggested by the names of things that show them clearly; shapes by terms like amphitheater, bowl-shaped, pear-shaped, egg-shaped; colors by lias-blue, sky-blue, gentian-blue, peacock-blue; and similarly with sounds, smells, and tastes. It’s also important to represent complex qualities with concise terms, like harmony, fragrance, organization, gender, symmetry, layering.
(iii) In the explanation of Nature we further require suitable names for processes and activities: as deduction, conversion, verification, addition, integration, causation, tendency, momentum, gravitation, aberration, refraction, conduction, affinity, combination, germination, respiration, attention, association, development.
(iii) In explaining Nature, we also need appropriate names for processes and activities: like deduction, conversion, verification, addition, integration, causation, tendency, momentum, gravitation, aberration, refraction, conduction, affinity, combination, germination, respiration, attention, association, development.
There may sometimes be a difficulty in distinguishing the terms which stand for qualities from those that express activities, since all qualities imply activities: weight, for example, implies gravitation; and the quality heat is also a kind of motion. The distinction aimed at lies be[Pg 351]tween a quality as perceived by means of an effect upon our senses (as weight is resistance to our effort in lifting; heat, a sensation when we approach fire), and that property of a body which is conceived to account for its energy (as gravitation that brings a body to the ground, or physical heat that expands an iron bar or works an engine). The former class of words, expressing qualities, are chiefly used in description: the latter class, expressing activities, are chiefly needed in explanation. They correspond respectively, like classification and explanation, with the static and dynamic aspects of Nature.
Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between words that represent qualities and those that express actions, since all qualities suggest actions: for instance, weight suggests gravity; and heat is also a form of motion. The distinction we’re getting at is between a quality as experienced through its effect on our senses (like weight being the resistance we feel when lifting something; or heat being the sensation we get when we get close to fire) and the property of a body that we think explains its energy (like gravity pulling something to the ground, or physical heat that makes an iron bar expand or powers an engine). The first group of words, which express qualities, are mainly used for description; while the second group, which express actions, are mainly used for explanation. They correspond, respectively, to classification and explanation, and relate to the static and dynamic aspects of Nature.
The terms of ordinary language fall into the same classes as those of science: they stand for things, classes of things, parts, or qualities, or activities of things; but they are far less precise in their signification. As long as popular thought is vague its language must be vague; nor is it desirable too strictly to correct the language whilst the thought is incorrigible. Much of the effect of poetry and eloquence depends upon the elasticity and indirect suggestiveness of common terms. Even in reasoning upon some subjects, it is a mistake to aim at an unattainable precision. It is better to be vaguely right than exactly wrong. In the criticism of manners, of fine art, or of literature, in politics, religion and moral philosophy, what we are anxious to say is often far from clear to ourselves; and it is better to indicate our meaning approximately, or as we feel about it, than to convey a false meaning, or to lose the warmth and colour that are the life of such reflections. It is hard to decide whether more harm has been done by sophists who take a base advantage of the vagueness of common terms, or by honest paralogists (if I may use the word) who begin by deceiving themselves with a plausible definiteness of expression, and go on to propagate their delusions amongst followers eager for systematic insight but ignorant of the limits of its possibility.
The words we use in everyday language categorize in the same way as scientific terms: they refer to things, types of things, parts or qualities, or actions of things; however, they’re much less precise. As long as popular understanding remains unclear, the language will also be unclear; it’s not ideal to correct the language too strictly while the underlying thoughts are confused. The impact of poetry and powerful speech relies on the flexibility and indirect meanings of common words. Even when reasoning about certain topics, striving for perfect accuracy can be a mistake. It’s better to be somewhat correct than completely wrong. In critiquing behavior, fine art, or literature, as well as in politics, religion, and moral philosophy, what we want to express is often not very clear to us; it’s preferable to convey our meaning in a general sense or as we feel it, rather than to misrepresent ourselves or miss the warmth and vibrancy that bring those reflections to life. It’s difficult to determine whether more damage has been caused by manipulators who exploit the ambiguity of common words or by sincere individuals (if I can call them that) who start off deceiving themselves with seemingly clear language and then spread their misconceptions to followers eager for clear understanding but unaware of the limits of what’s possible.
§ 3. A Definition is necessary (if possible) for every scientific name. To define a name is to give a precise statement of its meaning or connotation. The name to be defined is the subject of a proposition, whose predicate is a list of the fundamental qualities common to the things or processes which the subject denotes, and on account of possessing which qualities this name is given to them.
§ 3. A definition is necessary (if possible) for every scientific name. Defining a name means providing a clear explanation of its meaning or implication. The name being defined is the focus of a statement, with the details being a list of the essential qualities shared by the things or processes that the name refers to, and because of which those qualities, this name is assigned to them.
Thus, a curve is a line of which no part is straight. The momentum of a moving body is the product of its mass and its velocity (these being expressed in numbers of certain units). Nitrogen is a transparent colourless gas, atomic weight 14, specific gravity .9713, not readily combining, etc. A lion is a monodelphian mammal, predatory, walking on its toes, of nocturnal habits, with a short rounded head and muzzle; dental formula: Incisors (3-3)/(3-3), canines (1-1)/(1/1), præmolars (3-3)/(2-2), molars (1-1)/(1-1) = 30; four toes on the hind and five on the fore foot, retractile claws, prickly tongue, light and muscular in build, about 9½ feet from muzzle to tip of tail, tawny in colour, the males maned, with a tufted tail. If anything answers to this description, it is called a lion; if not, not: for this is the meaning of the name.
Thus, a curve is a line where no part is straight. The momentum of a moving object is the product of its mass and its velocity (both measured in specific units). Nitrogen is a clear, colorless gas with an atomic weight of 14 and a specific gravity of .9713, that doesn't easily combine with other elements, etc. A lion is a single-birthing mammal, a predator that walks on its toes, is active at night, and has a short, rounded head and muzzle; its dental formula is: Incisors (3-3)/(3-3), canines (1-1)/(1/1), premolars (3-3)/(2-2), molars (1-1)/(1-1) = 30; it has four toes on its back feet and five on its front feet, retractable claws, a rough tongue, is light and muscular in build, about 9½ feet from nose to tail tip, tawny in color, with males having a mane and a tufted tail. If anything fits this description, it is called a lion; if not, then it isn’t: that’s the meaning of the name.
For ordinary purposes, it may suffice to give an Incomplete Definition; that is, a list of qualities not exhaustive, but containing enough to identify the things denoted by the given name; as if we say that a lion is 'a large tawny beast of prey with a tufted tail.' Such purposes may also be served by a Description; which is technically, a proposition mentioning properties sufficient to distinguish the things denoted, but not the properties that enter into the definition; as if nitrogen be indicated as the gas that constitutes 4/5 of the atmosphere.
For everyday use, it might be enough to provide an Incomplete Definition; that is, a list of qualities that isn't exhaustive but includes enough to identify the items referred to by the given name; for example, saying that a lion is 'a large, tan predatory animal with a tufted tail.' Such aims can also be met by a Description, which is technically a statement mentioning characteristics sufficient to distinguish the items referred to, but not the characteristics that are part of the definition; for instance, nitrogen can be identified as the gas that makes up 4/5 of the atmosphere.
(1) It must state the whole connotation of the name to be defined.
(1) It must express the complete meaning of the name being defined.
(2) It must not include any quality derivative from the connotation. Such a quality is called a Proprium. A breach of this rule can do no positive harm, but it is a departure from scientific economy. There is no need to state in the definition what can be derived from it; and whatever can be derived by causation, or by mathematical demonstration, should be exhibited in that manner.
(2) It should not include any quality that comes from the meaning. Such a quality is known as a Proprium. Breaking this rule won’t cause any real harm, but it does go against the principles of scientific efficiency. There’s no need to specify in the definition what can be inferred from it; anything that can be derived by cause or through mathematical proof should be shown that way.
(3) It must not mention any circumstance that is not a part of the connotation, even though it be universally found in the things denoted. Such a circumstance, if not derivable from the connotation, is called an Accident. That, for example, the lion at present only inhabits the Old World, is an accident: if a species otherwise like a lion were found in Brazil, it would not be refused the name of lion on the score of locality. Whilst, however, the rules of Logic have forbidden the inclusion of proprium or accident in a definition, in fact the definitions of Natural History often mention such attributes when characteristic. Indeed, definitions of superordinate classes—Families and Orders—not infrequently give qualities as generally found in the subordinate classes, and at the same time mention exceptional cases in which they do not occur.
(3) It shouldn't mention any circumstances that are not part of the meaning, even if they are commonly found in the things described. Such a circumstance, if it can't be derived from the meaning, is called an Accident. For instance, the fact that lions currently only live in the Old World is an accident: if a species that resembles a lion were found in Brazil, it wouldn’t be denied the title of lion due to its location. However, while the rules of Logic have prohibited the inclusion of characteristics or accidents in a definition, Natural History definitions often highlight such traits when they are characteristic. In fact, definitions of higher-level groups—Families and Orders—often provide qualities that are generally associated with the lower-level groups, while also mentioning exceptions where those qualities don’t apply.
II.—As to its Expression—
II.—Regarding its Expression—
(4) A Definition must not include the very term to be defined, nor any cognate. In defining 'lion' we must not repeat 'lion,' nor use 'leonine'; it would elucidate nothing.
(4) A definition shouldn't include the term being defined or anything closely related. When defining 'lion,' we shouldn't say 'lion' or use 'leonine'; that wouldn't clarify anything.
(5) It must not be put in vague language.
(5) It shouldn't be phrased in unclear language.
(6) It must not be in a negative form, if a positive form be obtainable. We must not be content to say that a lion is 'no vegetarian,' or 'no lover of daylight.' To define a curve as a line 'always changing its direction' may be better than as 'in no part straight.'
(6) It shouldn't be in a negative form if a positive form is available. We shouldn't be satisfied to say that a lion is 'not a vegetarian' or 'not a lover of daylight.' Defining a curve as a line 'always changing its direction' is better than saying it is 'not straight at any point.'
§ 5. The process of determining a Definition is insepar[Pg 354]able from classification. We saw that classification consists in distributing things into groups according to their likenesses and differences, regarding as a class those individuals which have most qualities in common. In doing so we must, of course, recognise the common qualities or points of likeness; and to enumerate these is to define the name of the class. If we discover the qualities upon which a class is based by direct observation and induction, by the same method we discover the definition of its name.
§ 5. The process of determining a definition is closely linked to classification. We observed that classification involves sorting things into groups based on their similarities and differences, considering those individuals that share the most qualities as a class. In this process, we must identify the shared qualities or similarities, and to list these is to define the name of the class. If we identify the qualities that form the basis of a class through direct observation and inductive reasoning, we can use the same approach to discover the definition of its name. [Pg 354]
We saw also that classification is not merely the determination of isolated groups of things, but a systematic arrangement of such groups in relation to one another. Hence, again, Definitions are not independent, but relative to one another; and, of course, in the same way as classes are relative. That is to say, as a class is placed in subordination to higher or more comprehensive groups, so the definition of its name is subordinate to that of their names; and as a class stands in contrast with co-ordinate classes (those that are in the same degree of subordination to the same higher groups), so the definition of its name is in contrast or co-ordination with the definitions of their names. Lion is subordinate to Felis, to Digitigrade, to Carnivore and so on up to Animal; and, beyond the Animal Kingdom, to Phenomenon; it is co-ordinate with tiger, puma, etc.; and more remotely it is co-ordinate with dog, jackal, wolf, which come under Canis—a genus co-ordinate with Felis. The definition of lion, therefore, is subordinate to that of Felis, and to all above it up to Phenomenon; and is co-ordinate with that of tiger, and with all species in the same grade. This is the ground of the old method of definition per genus et differentiam.
We also observed that classification isn't just about identifying isolated groups of things; it's about organizing those groups systematically in relation to each other. Therefore, definitions are not independent but are related to one another, just like classes are. In other words, as a class is ranked under higher or more inclusive groups, the definition of its name is also subordinate to the definitions of those names. Similarly, as a class is compared to coordinate classes (those that share the same level of subordination to the same higher groups), the definition of its name is compared or coordinated with the definitions of their names. A lion is subordinate to Felis, to Digitigrade, to Carnivore, and so on up to Animal; it is parallel to tiger, puma, etc.; and more distantly, it is parallel to dog, jackal, wolf, which fall under Canis—a genus that is parallel to Felis. Therefore, the definition of a lion is subordinate to that of Felis and everything above it up to Phenomenon; and it is parallel to that of tiger and to all species at the same level. This is the basis of the traditional method of definition per genus et differentiam.
The genus being the next class above any species, the differentia or Difference consists of the qualities which mark that species in addition to those that mark the genus, and which therefore distinguish it from all other [Pg 355]species of the same genus. In the above definition of lion, for example, all the properties down to "light and muscular in build" are generic, that is, are possessed by the whole genus, Felis; and the remaining four (size, colour, tufted tail, and mane in the male) are the Difference or specific properties, because in those points the lion contrasts with the other species of that genus. Differences may be exhibited thus:
The genus is the classification that comes immediately above any species. The differentia or Difference refers to the qualities that define a species in addition to those that define the genus, which helps to set it apart from all other [Pg 355]species within the same genus. For instance, in the definition of a lion, all the characteristics up to "light and muscular in build" are generic, meaning they apply to the entire genus, Felis; while the remaining four traits (size, color, tufted tail, and mane in the male) are the Difference or specific properties, because those traits differentiate the lion from other species in the genus. Differences can be illustrated as follows:
Lion. | Tiger. | |
Size: | about 9½ feet from nose to tip of tail. | About 10 feet. |
Colour: | tawny. | Warm tawny, striped with black. |
Tail: | tufted. | Tapering. |
Mane: | present in the male. | Both sexes maneless. |
There are other differences in the shape of the skull. In defining lion, then, it would have been enough to mention the genus and the properties making up the Difference; because the properties of the genus may be found by turning to the definition of the genus; and, on the principle of economy, whatever it is enough to do it is right to do. To define 'by genus and difference' is a point of elegance, when the genus is known; but the only way of knowing it is to compare the individuals comprised in it and in co-ordinate genera, according to the methods of scientific classification. It may be added that, as the genus represents ancestral derivation, the predication of genus in a definition indicates the remote causes of the phenomena denoted by the name defined. And this way of defining corresponds with the method of double naming by genus and species: Felis leo, Felis tigris, etc.; Vanessa Atalanta, Vanessa Io, etc.
There are other differences in the shape of the skull. In defining a lion, it would have been enough to mention the genus and the characteristics that make it different; because the characteristics of the genus can be found by looking at the definition of the genus, and, based on the principle of efficiency, whatever is enough to do is the right thing to do. Defining 'by genus and difference' is a refined approach when the genus is known; but the only way to know it is to compare the individuals included in it and in related genera, according to the methods of scientific classification. It can be added that, since the genus indicates ancestral lineage, mentioning the genus in a definition points to the distant causes of the phenomena represented by the name being defined. This method of defining aligns with the practice of double naming by genus and species: Felis leo, Felis tigris, etc.; Vanessa Atalanta, Vanessa Io, etc.
The so-called Genetic Definition, chiefly used in Mathematics, is a rule for constructing that which a name denotes, in such a way as to ensure its possessing the tributes connoted by the name. Thus, for a circle:[Pg 356] Take any point and, at any constant distance from it, trace a line returning into itself. In Chemistry a genetic definition of any compound might be given in the form of directions for the requisite synthesis of elements.
The so-called Genetic Definition, mainly used in Mathematics, is a rule for creating what a name refers to, ensuring it has the qualities associated with that name. So, for a circle:[Pg 356] Take any point and, at a constant distance from it, draw a line that loops back onto itself. In Chemistry, a genetic definition of any compound might be provided as instructions for the necessary synthesis of elements.
§ 6. The chief difficulty in the definition of scientific names consists in determining exactly the nature of the things denoted by them, as in classifying plants and animals. If organic species are free growths, continually changing, however gradually, according as circumstances give some advantage to one form over others, we may expect to find such species branching into varieties, which differ considerably from one another in some respects, though not enough to constitute distinct species. This is the case; and, consequently, there arises some uncertainty in collecting from all the varieties those attributes which are common to the species as a whole; and, therefore, of course, uncertainty in defining the species. The same difficulty may occur in defining a genus, on account of the extent to which some of its species differ from others, whilst having enough of the common character to deter the classifier from forming a distinct genus on their account. On the other hand the occurrence of numerous intermediate varieties may make it difficult to distinguish genera or species at all. Even the Kingdoms of plants and animals are hard to discriminate at the lowest levels of organisation. Now, where there is a difficulty of classification there must be a corresponding difficulty of definition.
§ 6. The main challenge in defining scientific names lies in accurately determining what the names refer to, particularly when classifying plants and animals. If organic species are free-growing and continually evolving, albeit slowly, depending on which forms have advantages in certain circumstances, we can expect these species to branch out into varieties that differ significantly from each other in some ways, yet not enough to be classified as separate species. This is indeed the case, leading to uncertainty when trying to identify the traits common to the species overall; thus, there's uncertainty in defining the species itself. The same issue can arise when defining a genus, due to the degree of variation among its species, while still possessing enough shared characteristics that prevent the classifier from creating a separate genus for them. Additionally, the presence of many intermediate varieties can blur the lines between genera or species. Even distinguishing the Kingdoms of plants and animals becomes difficult at the most basic levels of organization. Therefore, where classification is challenging, defining those classifications is equally difficult.
It has been proposed in such cases to substitute a Type for a Definition; to select some variety of a species, or species of a genus, as exhibiting its character in an eminent degree, and to regard other groups as belonging to the same species or genus, according as they agree more with this type than with other types representing other species or genera. But the selection of one group as typical implies a recognition of its attributes as prevailing generally (though not universally) throughout the species or genus; [Pg 357]and to recognise these attributes and yet refuse to enumerate them in a definition, seems to be no great gain. To enumerate the attributes of the type as an Approximate Definition of the species or genus, true of most of the groups constituting the species or genus, answers the same purpose, is more explicit, and can mislead no one who really attends to the exposition. An approximate definition is, indeed, less misleading than the indication of a type; for the latter method seems to imply that the group which is now typical has a greater permanence or reality than its co-ordinate groups; whereas, for aught we know, one of the outside varieties or species may even now be superseding and extinguishing it. But the statement of a definition as approximate, is an honest confession that both the definition and the classification are (like a provisional hypothesis) merely the best account we can give of the matter according to our present knowledge.
It has been suggested in these situations to replace a Definition with a Type; to choose a specific variety of a species, or a species of a genus, that best shows its characteristics, and to consider other groups as part of the same species or genus based on how closely they match this type compared to other types representing different species or genera. However, choosing one group as typical means acknowledging that its features generally (though not always) apply across the species or genus; [Pg 357] and recognizing these features while not listing them in a definition doesn’t seem like much of an improvement. Listing the features of the type as an Approximate Definition of the species or genus, applicable to most groups within it, serves the same purpose, is clearer, and won’t mislead anyone who truly engages with the explanation. An approximate definition is, in fact, less misleading than identifying a type; since using the latter approach suggests that the currently typical group has more permanence or reality than the other related groups; meanwhile, for all we know, one of the outside varieties or species could be replacing and eliminating it right now. Presenting a definition as approximate is an honest acknowledgment that both the definition and the classification are (like a provisional hypothesis) simply the best explanation we can offer given our current understanding.
§ 7. The limits of Definition are twofold: (a) A name whose meaning cannot be analysed cannot be defined. This limitation meets us only in dealing with the names of the metaphysical parts or simple qualities of objects under the second requisite of a Terminology. Resistance and weight, colour and its modes, many names of sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold—in fact, whatever stands for an unanalysable perception, cannot be made intelligible to any one who has not had experience of the facts denoted; they cannot be defined, but only exemplified. A sort of genetic definition may perhaps be attempted, as if we say that colour is the special sensation of the cones of the retina, or that blue is the sensation produced by a ray of light vibrating about 650,000,000,000,000 times a second; but such expressions can give no notion of our meaning to a blind man, or to any one who has never seen a blue object. Nor can we explain what heat is like, or the smell of tobacco, to those who have never experienced them; nor the sound of C 128 to one who knows nothing of the musical scale.
§ 7. There are two main limits to definition: (a) A term whose meaning can't be broken down can't be defined. This issue arises mainly with the names of metaphysical parts or simple qualities of objects, as per the second requirement of terminology. Concepts like resistance and weight, colors and their variations, many names for sounds, tastes, smells, heat, and cold—in short, anything that represents an unbreakable perception—cannot be understood by someone who hasn't experienced the things being referred to; they can't be defined, only illustrated. We might make a kind of genetic definition by saying that color is the specific sensation produced by the cones in the retina, or that blue is the sensation created by a ray of light vibrating around 650 trillion times a second; but these descriptions won't convey our meaning to a blind person or anyone who has never seen a blue object. We also can't explain what heat feels like, or the smell of tobacco, to those who have never encountered them; nor can we describe the sound of C 128 to someone unfamiliar with the musical scale.
If we distinguish the property of an object from the sensation it excites in us, we may define any simple property as 'the power of producing the sensation'; the colour of a flower as the power of exciting the sensation of colour in us. Still, this gives no information to the blind nor to the colour-blind. Abstract names may be defined by defining the corresponding concrete: the definition of 'human nature' is the same as of 'man.' But if the corresponding concrete be a simple sensation (as blue), this being indefinable, the abstract (blueness) is also indefinable.
If we separate the property of an object from the sensation it triggers in us, we can describe any simple property as 'the ability to produce that sensation'; for example, the color of a flower can be seen as the ability to evoke the sensation of color in us. However, this doesn't provide any useful information to the blind or color-blind. Abstract terms can be defined by explaining their related concrete examples: the definition of 'human nature' is the same as that of 'man.' But if the related concrete is a simple sensation (like blue), since it's undefinable, the abstract term (blueness) is also undefinable.
(b) The second limit of Definition is the impossibility of exhausting infinity, which would be necessary in order to convey the meaning of the name of any individual thing or person. For, as we saw in chap. iv., if in attempting to define a proper name we stop short of infinity, our list of qualities or properties may possibly be found in two individuals, and then it becomes the definition of a class-name or general name, however small the actual class. Hence we can only give a Description of that which a proper name denotes, enumerating enough of its properties to distinguish it from everything else as far as our knowledge goes.
(b) The second limit of Definition is the impossibility of fully capturing infinity, which is necessary to convey the meaning of the name of any individual thing or person. As we noted in chap. iv., if we try to define a proper name and don’t encompass infinity, our list of characteristics or properties might apply to two different individuals, and then it becomes the definition of a class name or general name, no matter how small the actual class. Therefore, we can only provide a Description of what a proper name refers to, listing enough of its properties to set it apart from everything else as much as our knowledge allows.
§ 8. The five Predicables (Species, Genus, Difference, Proprium, Accident) may best be discussed in connection with Classification and Definition; and in giving an account of Classification, most of what has to be said about them has been anticipated. Their name, indeed, connects them with the doctrine of Propositions; for Predicables are terms that may be predicated, classified according to their connotative relation to the subject of a proposition (that is, according to the relation in which their connotation stands to the connotation of the subject): nevertheless, the significance of the relations of such predicates to a subject is derivative from the general doctrine of classification.
§ 8. The five Predicables (Species, Genus, Difference, Proprium, Accident) are best discussed in relation to Classification and Definition; and when discussing Classification, most of what needs to be said about them has already been covered. Their name links them to the doctrine of Propositions; because Predicables are terms that can be predicated, classified based on their connotative relationship to the subject of a proposition (that is, based on how their connotation relates to the connotation of the subject): however, the significance of the relationships of such predicates to a subject comes from the overall theory of classification.
If X be a definition, Y must be a species; for nothing but a general name can be predicated of a definition: and, strictly speaking, it is only in relation to a definition (as subject) that species can be a predicable; when it is called Species predicabilis (1).
If X is a definition, then Y has to be a species; because only a general name can be applied to a definition. In a strict sense, species can only be a predicate in relation to a definition (as the subject); that's when it's referred to as Species predicabilis (1).
If X be a connotative name, it is itself a species (Species subjicibilis); and the place of the subject of a proposition is the usual one for species. The predicate, Y, may then be related to the species in three different ways. First, it may be a definition, exactly equivalent to the species;—in fact, nothing else than the species in an explicit form, the analysis of its connotation. Secondly, the predicate may be, or connote, some part only of the definition or connotation of the species; and then it is either genus (2), or difference (3). Thirdly, the predicate may connote no part of the definition, and then it is either derivable from it, being a proprium (4), or not derivable from it, being an accident (5). These points of doctrine will be expanded and illustrated in subsequent pages.
If X is a connotative name, it represents a species; and the position of the subject in a proposition is typically where the species goes. The predicate, Y, can relate to the species in three different ways. First, it can serve as a definition that's exactly equivalent to the species—essentially, it's just the species put explicitly, breaking down its connotation. Second, the predicate can refer to only a part of the definition or connotation of the species; in this case, it can either be a genus or a difference. Third, the predicate may not relate to any part of the definition at all, which means it can either be derivable from it, making it a proprium, or not derivable from it, making it an accident. These concepts will be discussed and explained further in the following pages.
If X be a singular name, deriving connotation from its constituent terms (chap. iv. § 2), as 'The present Emperor of China,' it may be treated as a Species subjicibilis. Then that he is 'an absolute monarch,' predicates a genus; because that is a genus of 'Emperor,' a part of the singular name that gives it connotation. That he wears a yellow robe is a proprium, derivable from the ceremonial of his court. That he is thirty years of age is an accident.
If X is a specific name, gaining meaning from its individual parts (chap. iv. § 2), like 'The current Emperor of China,' it can be considered a Species subjicibilis. The fact that he is 'an absolute monarch' indicates a broader category; this is a category of 'Emperor,' which is part of the specific name that provides its meaning. His wearing a yellow robe is a distinctive feature, derived from the rituals of his court. His being thirty years old is just a coincidence.
But if X be a proper name, having no connotation, Y must always be an accident; since there can then be no definition of X, and therefore neither species, genus, difference, nor proprium. Hence, that 'John Doe is a man' is an accidental proposition: 'man' is not here a Species [Pg 360]predicabilis; for the name might have been given to a dog or a mountain. That is what enables the proposition to convey information: it would be useless if the proper name implied 'humanity.'
But if X is a proper name with no associated meaning, Y must always be an accident; since there can be no definition of X, there’s no species, genus, difference, or proprium. Therefore, the statement 'John Doe is a man' is an accidental proposition: 'man' is not a Species[Pg 360]predicabilis; because the name could have been given to a dog or a mountain. This is what allows the statement to provide information: it would be meaningless if the proper name implied 'humanity.'
'Species' is most frequently used (as in Zoology) for the class denoted by a general name; but in Logic it is better to treat it as a general name used connotatively for the attributes possessed in common by the things denoted, and on account of which they are regarded as a class: it is sometimes called the Essence (§ 9). In this connotative sense, a species is implicitly what the definition is explicitly; and therefore the two are always simply convertible. Thus, 'A plane triangle' (species) is 'a figure enclosed by three straight lines' (definition): clearly we may equally say, 'A figure enclosed by three straight lines is a plane triangle.' It is a simple identity.
'Species' is most often used (like in Zoology) for the class denoted by a general name; but in Logic, it's better to think of it as a general name used to refer to the shared characteristics of the things it describes, which is why they are seen as a class: it's sometimes referred to as the Essence (§ 9). In this sense, a species is implicitly what the definition is explicitly; therefore, the two can always be interchanged. For example, 'A plane triangle' (species) is 'a figure enclosed by three straight lines' (definition): clearly, we can also say, 'A figure enclosed by three straight lines is a plane triangle.' It's a straightforward identity.
A genus is also commonly viewed denotatively, as a class containing smaller classes, its species; but in Logic it is, again, better to treat it connotatively, as a name whose definition is part of the definition of a given species.
A genus is often seen as a category that includes smaller categories, its species; however, in Logic, it's more effective to think of it connotatively, as a term whose definition is a part of the definition of a specific species.
A difference is the remainder of the definition of any species after subtracting a given genus. Hence, the genus and difference together make up the species; whence the method of definition per genus et differentiam (ante, § 5).
A difference is what’s left of the definition of any species after you take away a specific genus. So, the genus and difference combine to form the species; hence the method of definition per genus et differentiam (ante, § 5).
Whilst in Botany and Zoology the species is fixed at the lowest step of the classification (varieties not being reckoned as classes), and the genus is also fixed on the step next above it, in Logic these predicables are treated as movable up and down the ladder: any lower class being species in relation to any higher; which higher class, wherever taken, thus becomes a genus. Lion may logically be regarded as a species of digitigrade, or mammal, or animal; and then each of these is a genus as to lion: or, again, digitigrade may be regarded as a species of mammal, or mammal as a species of animal. The highest class, how[Pg 361]ever, is never a species; wherefore it is called a Summum Genus: and the lowest class is never a genus; wherefore it is called an Infima Species. Between these two any step may be either species or genus, according to the relation in which it is viewed to other classes, and is then called Subaltern. The summum genus, again, may be viewed in relation to a given universe or suppositio (that is, any limited area of existence now the object of attention), or to the whole universe. If we take the animal kingdom as our suppositio, Animal is the summum genus; but if we take the whole universe, 'All things' is the summum genus.
While in Botany and Zoology the species is fixed as the lowest level of classification (varieties not counted as classes), and the genus is also fixed at the next level up, in Logic these categories can move up and down the hierarchy: any lower class is a species in relation to any higher class; that higher class, no matter how you define it, becomes a genus. A lion can logically be seen as a species of digitigrade, mammal, or animal; and each of these serves as a genus in relation to the lion. Similarly, digitigrade can be viewed as a species of mammal, or mammal as a species of animal. However, the highest class is never a species, so it’s called a Summum Genus; and the lowest class is never a genus, so it’s called an Infima Species. Any level between these two can be seen as either a species or a genus, depending on how it relates to other classes, and is then called Subaltern. The summum genus can also be viewed in relation to a given universe or suppositio (which means any specific area of existence that is currently under consideration), or to the whole universe. If we take the animal kingdom as our suppositio, Animal is the summum genus; but if we consider the entire universe, 'All things' is the summum genus.
"Porphyry's tree" is used to illustrate this doctrine. It begins with a summum genus, 'Substance,' and descends by adding differences, step by step, to the infima species, 'Man.' It also illustrates Division by Dichotomy.
"Porphyry's tree" is used to illustrate this doctrine. It starts with a summum genus, 'Substance,' and goes down by adding distinctions, step by step, to the infima species, 'Man.' It also shows Division by Dichotomy.

[Pg 362]Beginning with 'Substance,' as summum genus, and adding the difference 'Corporeal,' we frame the species 'Body.' Taking 'Body' as the genus and adding the difference 'Animate,' we frame the species 'Living Body;' and so on till 'Man' is reached; which, being infima species, is only subdivisible into individuals. But the division of Man into individuals involves a change of principle; it is a division of the denotation, not an increase of the connotation as in the earlier steps. Only one side of each dichotomy is followed out in the 'tree': if the other side had been taken, Incorporeal Substance would be 'Spirit'; which might be similarly subdivided.
[Pg 362]Starting with 'Substance' as the highest category, and adding the distinction 'Corporeal,' we define the category 'Body.' Using 'Body' as the category and adding the distinction 'Animate,' we define the category 'Living Body;' and we continue this process until we reach 'Man,' which, being the most specific category, can only be divided into individuals. However, the division of Man into individuals represents a change in principle; it is a division of the reference, not an expansion of the meaning like in the earlier steps. Only one side of each divide is explored in the 'tree': if the other side had been pursued, Incorporeal Substance would be 'Spirit,' which could similarly be subdivided.
Genus and species, then, have a double relation. In denotation the genus includes the species; in connotation the species includes the genus. Hence the doctrine that by increasing the connotation of a name we decrease its denotation: if, for example, to the definition of 'lion' we add 'inhabiting Africa,' Asiatic lions are no longer denoted by it. On the other hand, if we use a name to denote objects that it did not formerly apply to, some of the connotation must be dropped: if, for example, the name 'lion' be used to include 'pumas,' the tufted tail and mane can no longer be part of the meaning of the word; since pumas have not these properties.
Genus and species have a dual relationship. In terms of denotation, the genus includes the species; in terms of connotation, the species includes the genus. This leads to the idea that when we increase the connotation of a name, we decrease its denotation: for example, if we add "inhabiting Africa" to the definition of "lion," Asiatic lions are no longer included. Conversely, if we use a name to refer to objects it didn’t originally cover, some of the connotation must be removed: for example, if "lion" is used to also include "pumas," the tufted tail and mane can no longer be part of the word's meaning, as pumas do not have these traits.
This doctrine is logically or formally true, but it may not always be true in fact. It is logically true; because wherever we add to the connotation of a name, it is possible that some things to which it formerly applied are now excluded from its denotation, though we may not know of any such things. Still, as a matter of fact, an object may be discovered to have a property previously unknown, and this property may be fundamental and co-extensive with the denotation of its name, or even more widely prevalent. The discovery that the whale is a mammal did not limit the class 'whale'; nor did the discovery that lions, dogs, wolves, etc., walk upon their toes, affect the application of any of these names.
This idea is logically or formally true, but it might not always be true in reality. It is logically true because whenever we add to the meaning of a name, it's possible that some things to which it used to apply are now excluded from its definition, even if we're not aware of any such things. However, in reality, an object could be found to have a property that was previously unknown, and this property might be essential and match the definition of its name, or even be more widespread. The discovery that the whale is a mammal didn’t limit the category 'whale'; nor did the discovery that lions, dogs, wolves, etc., walk on their toes affect the application of any of these names.
Similarly, the extension of a name to things not previously denoted by it, may not in fact alter its definition; for the extension may be made on the very ground that the things now first denoted by it have been found to have the properties enumerated in its definition, as when the name 'mammal' was applied to whales, dolphins, etc. If, however, 'mammal' had formerly been understood to apply only to land animals, so that its definition included (at least, popularly) the quality of 'living on the land,' this part of the connotation was of course lost when the denotation came to include certain aquatic animals.
Similarly, extending a name to include things it didn't originally refer to might not actually change its definition; the extension could be based on the fact that these newly included things share the characteristics listed in its definition, just like when the term 'mammal' was applied to whales, dolphins, etc. However, if 'mammal' used to only refer to land animals, with its definition including (at least in common understanding) the trait of 'living on land,' this part of the meaning would obviously be lost when the term started to include some aquatic animals.
A proprium is an attribute derived from the definition: being either (a) implied in it, or deducible from it, as 'having its three angles equal to two right angles' may be proved from the definition of a triangle; or (b) causally dependent on it, as being 'dangerous to flocks' results from the nature of a wolf, and as 'moving in an ellipse' results from the nature of a planet in its relation to the sun.
A proprium is a trait that comes from the definition: it is either (a) implied in it or can be deduced from it, like how 'having its three angles equal to two right angles' can be proven from the definition of a triangle; or (b) causally related to it, as being 'dangerous to flocks' stems from what a wolf is, and as 'moving in an ellipse' comes from a planet's nature in relation to the sun.
An accident is a property accompanying the defining attributes without being deducible from them. The word suggests that such a property is merely 'accidental,' or there 'by chance'; but it only means that we do not understand the connection.
An accident is a quality that goes along with the defining traits without being able to be figured out from them. The term implies that this quality is just 'accidental,' or there 'by chance'; but it only means that we don't grasp the link.
Proprium and Accident bear the same relation to one another as Derivative and Empirical Laws: the predication of a proprium is a derivative law, and the predication of an accident is an empirical law. Both accidents and empirical laws present problems, the solution of which consists in reducing them, respectively, to propria and derivative laws. Thus the colour of animals was once regarded as an accident for which no reason could be given; but now the colour of animals is regarded as an effect of their nature and habits, the chief determinants of it being the advantage of concealment; whilst in other cases, as among brightly coloured insects and snakes, the determinant may be the advantage of advertising their [Pg 364]own noxiousness. If such reasoning is sound, colour is a proprium (and if so, it cannot logically be included in a definition; but it is better to be judicious than formal).
Proprium and Accident are related in the same way as Derivative and Empirical Laws: stating a proprium is a derivative law, and stating an accident is an empirical law. Both accidents and empirical laws pose challenges, which can be addressed by simplifying them into propria and derivative laws. For example, the color of animals was once thought to be an accident with no explanation. However, we now understand that the color of animals is influenced by their nature and habits, with major factors being the benefits of camouflage; in other instances, such as brightly colored insects and snakes, the benefit may be signaling their own toxicity. If this reasoning holds up, color is a proprium (and if that’s the case, it shouldn't logically be part of a definition; but it’s wiser to be practical than overly formal).
If the colour of animals is a proprium, we must recognise a distinction between Inseparable and Separable Propria, according as they do, or do not, always accompany the essence: for mankind is regarded as one species; but each colour, white, black or yellow, is separable from it under different climatic conditions; whilst tigers are everywhere coloured and striped in much the same way; so that we may consider their colouring as inseparable, in spite of exceptional specimens black or white or clouded.
If the color of animals is a defining characteristic, we need to differentiate between Inseparable and Separable Characteristics based on whether they always accompany the essence or not: humanity is seen as one species, but each color—white, black, or yellow—can be separated from it under different climatic conditions. In contrast, tigers are consistently colored and striped in a similar way, meaning we can view their coloring as inseparable, despite the existence of rare black, white, or clouded specimens.
The same distinction may be drawn between accidents. 'Inhabiting Asia' is an Inseparable Accident of tiger, but a Separable Accident of lion. Even the occasional characteristics and occupations of individuals are sometimes called separable accidents of the species; as, of man, being colour-blind, carpentering, or running.
The same distinction can be made between accidents. 'Living in Asia' is a permanent characteristic of tigers, but a temporary one for lions. Even the occasional traits and jobs of individuals are sometimes referred to as temporary characteristics of the species; for example, being color-blind, being a carpenter, or running in the case of humans.
A proprium in the original signification of the term ἴδιον was peculiar to a species, never found with any other, and was therefore convertible with the subject; but this restriction is no longer insisted on.
A proprium, in its original meaning of the term ἴδιον, was unique to a specific species and never found with any others, which made it interchangeable with the subject; however, this limitation is no longer emphasized.
§ 9. Any predication of a genus, difference or definition, is a verbal, analytic, or essential proposition: and any predication of a proprium or accident, is a real, synthetic, or accidental proposition (chap. v. § 6). A proposition is called verbal or analytic when the predicate is a part, or the whole, of the meaning of the subject; and the subject being species, a genus or difference is part, and a definition is the whole, of its meaning or connotation. Hence such a proposition has also been called explicative. Again, a proposition is called real or synthetic when the predicate is no part of the meaning of the subject; and, the subject being species, a proprium or accident is no part of its meaning or connotation. Hence such a proposition has been called ampliative.
§ 9. Any statement about a genus, difference, or definition is considered a verbal, analytic, or essential proposition; while any statement about a proprium or accident is seen as a real, synthetic, or accidental proposition (chap. v. § 6). A proposition is termed verbal or analytic when the predicate is a part or the whole of the meaning of the subject; in this case, if the subject is a species, a genus or difference is a part, and a definition is the entire meaning or implication. Therefore, this kind of proposition is also referred to as explicative. On the other hand, a proposition is termed real or synthetic when the predicate is not a part of the meaning of the subject; here, if the subject is a species, a proprium or accident is not part of its meaning or implication. Thus, this type of proposition is called ampliative.
As to Essential and Accidental, these terms are derived from the doctrine of Realism. Realists maintain that the essence of a thing, or that which makes a thing to be what (or of what kind) it is, also makes everything else of the same kind to be what it is. The essence, they say, is not proper to each thing or separately inherent in it, but is an 'Universal' common to all things of that kind. Some hold that the universal nature of things of any kind is an Idea existing (apart from the things) in the intelligible world, invisible to mortal eye and only accessible to thought; whence the Idea is called a noumenon: that only the Idea is truly real, and that the things (say, trees, bedsteads and cities) which appear to us in sense-perception, and which therefore are called phenomena, only exist by participating in, or imitating, the Idea of each kind of them. The standard of this school bears the legend Universalia ante rem.
As for Essential and Accidental, these terms come from the doctrine of Realism. Realists argue that the essence of a thing, or what defines it and classifies it, also defines everything else of that kind. They claim that essence isn’t unique to individual things or independently found within them, but is a 'Universal' shared by all things of that kind. Some believe that the universal nature of any category of things is an Idea that exists (separate from the things) in the intellectual realm, invisible to the human eye and only accessible through thought; hence, this Idea is referred to as a noumenon: only the Idea is truly real, while the things (like trees, beds, and cities) that we perceive through our senses, called phenomena, only exist by participating in or mimicking the Idea of their type. The standard of this school carries the motto Universalia ante rem.
But others think that the Universal does not exist apart from particular things, but is their present essence; gives them actuality as individual substances; "informs" them, or is their formal cause, and thus makes them to be what they are of their kind according to the definition: the universal lion is in all lions, and is not merely similar, but identical in all; for thus the Universal Reason thinks and energises in Nature. This school inscribes upon its banners, Universalia in re.
But some people believe that the Universal doesn't exist separately from specific things; instead, it is their current essence, giving them reality as individual substances. It "informs" them, or acts as their formal cause, and thus defines what they are of their kind: the universal lion exists in all lions and is not just similar, but identical in every one of them. This is how Universal Reason thinks and acts in Nature. This school writes on its banners, Universalia in re.
To define anything, then, is to discover its essence, whether transcendent or immanent; and to predicate the definition, or any part of it (genus or difference), is to enounce an essential proposition. But a proprium, being no part of a definition, though it always goes along with it, does not show what a thing is; nor of course does an accident; so that to predicate either of these is to enounce an accidental proposition.
To define anything, then, is to discover its essence, whether beyond or inherent; and to state the definition, or any part of it (category or distinction), is to express an essential statement. But a proprium, which is not part of a definition, even though it is always associated with it, does not reveal what something is; nor does an accident, of course; so to assert either of these is to state an accidental proposition.
Another school of Metaphysicians denies the existence of Universal Ideas or Forms; the real things, according to [Pg 366]them, are individuals; which, so far as any of them resemble one another, are regarded as forming classes; and the only Universal is the class-name, which is applied universally in the same sense. Hence, they are called Nominalists. The sense in which any name is applied, they say, is derived from a comparison of the individuals, and by abstraction of the properties they have in common; and thus the definition is formed. Universalia post rem is their motto. Some Nominalists, however, hold that, though Universals do not exist in nature, they do in our minds, as Abstract Ideas or Concepts; and that to define a term is to analyse the concept it stands for; whence, these philosophers are called Conceptualists.
Another group of metaphysicists argues that Universal Ideas or Forms don’t exist; instead, they believe that the only real things are individuals. When individuals share similarities, they are grouped into classes, and the only universal aspect is the class name, which is used consistently. That’s why they are called Nominalists. They explain that the meaning of any name comes from comparing individuals and abstracting the characteristics they share, allowing for definitions to be formed. Their motto is Universalia post rem. However, some Nominalists believe that while Universals don’t exist in reality, they do exist in our minds as Abstract Ideas or Concepts, and defining a term is about breaking down the concept it represents; these philosophers are known as Conceptualists.
Such questions belong to Metaphysics rather than to Logic; and the foregoing is a commonplace account of a subject upon every point of which there is much difference of opinion.
Such questions are more about Metaphysics than Logic; and the above is a standard explanation of a topic where there are many differing views on every aspect.
§ 10. The doctrine of the Predicaments, or Categories, is so interwoven with the history of speculation and especially of Logic that, though its vitality is exhausted, it can hardly be passed over unmentioned. The predicaments of Aristotle are the heads of a classification of terms as possible predicates of a particular thing or individual. Hamilton (Logic: Lect. xi.) has given a classification of them; which, if it cannot be found in Aristotle, is an aid to the memory, and may be thrown into a table thus:
§ 10. The idea of Predicaments, or Categories, is so deeply connected with the history of thought, particularly in Logic, that even though it’s lost its relevance, it can't be overlooked. Aristotle’s predicaments serve as the main categories for classifying terms that could function as predicates for a specific thing or individual. Hamilton (Logic: Lect. xi.) has provided a classification of them, which, even if it's not found in Aristotle’s work, helps with memory and can be organized into a table like this:
Substance | οὐσία | (1) | |
[Quantity | ποσόν | (2) | |
[Attribute]— | [Quality | ποιόν | (3) |
[Relation | πρόσ τι | (4) | |
[Where | ποῡ | (5) | |
[When | πότε | (6) | |
[Action | ποιεῑν | (7) | |
[Modes of Relation] | [Passion | πάσχειν | (8) |
[Posture | κεῑσθαι | (9) | |
[Habit | ἔχειν | (10) |
[Pg 367]Taking a particular thing or individual, as 'Socrates,' this is Substance in the proper sense of the word, and can never be a predicate, but is the subject of all predicates. We may assert of him (1) Substance in the secondary sense (species or genus) that he is a man or an animal; (2) Quantity, of such a height or weight; (3) Quality, fair or dark; (4) Relation, shorter or taller than Xanthippe; (5) Where, at Athens; (6) When, two thousand and odd years ago; (7) Action, that he questions or pleads; (8) Passion, that he is answered or condemned; (9) Posture, that he sits or stands; (10) Habit, that he is clothed or armed.
[Pg 367]Taking a specific thing or person, like 'Socrates,' this is Substance in the proper sense of the word, and can never be a predicate, but is the subject of all predicates. We can state about him (1) Substance in a secondary sense (species or genus) that he is a man or an animal; (2) Quantity, such as his height or weight; (3) Quality, whether he is fair or dark; (4) Relation, if he is shorter or taller than Xanthippe; (5) Where, in Athens; (6) When, over two thousand years ago; (7) Action, that he questions or pleads; (8) Passion, that he is answered or condemned; (9) Posture, that he sits or stands; (10) Habit, that he is clothed or armed.
Thus illustrated (Categoriæ: c. 4), the predicaments seem to be a list of topics, generally useful for the analysis and description of an individual, but wanting in the scientific qualities of rational arrangement, derivation and limitation. Why are there just these heads, and just so many? It has been suggested that they were determined by grammatical forms: for Substance is expressed by a substantive; Quantity, Quality and Relation are adjectival; Where and When, adverbial; and the remaining four are verbal. It is true that the parts of speech were not systematically discriminated until some years after Aristotle's time; but, as they existed, they may have unconsciously influenced his selection and arrangement of the predicaments. Where a principle is so obscure one feels glad of any clue to it (cf. Grote's Aristotle, c. 3, and Zeller's Aristotle, c. 6). But whatever the origin and original meaning of the predicaments, they were for a long time regarded as a classification of things; and it is in this sense that Mill criticises them (Logic: Bk. I. c. 3).
Thus illustrated (Categoriæ: c. 4), the predicaments appear to be a list of topics that are generally useful for analyzing and describing an individual, but they lack the scientific qualities of rational organization, derivation, and limitation. Why are these specific categories chosen, and why exactly this number? Some have suggested that they were influenced by grammatical forms: Substance is expressed by a noun; Quantity, Quality, and Relation are adjectives; Where and When are adverbs; and the remaining four are verbs. It's true that parts of speech weren't systematically defined until years after Aristotle's time, but as they were, they may have unconsciously shaped his selection and organization of the predicaments. When a principle is that unclear, any clue to it is welcome (cf. Grote's Aristotle, c. 3, and Zeller's Aristotle, c. 6). However, regardless of the origin and original meaning of the predicaments, they were long considered a classification of things; and it's in this sense that Mill critiques them (Logic: Bk. I. c. 3).
If, however, the predicaments are heads of a classification of terms predicable, we may expect to find some connection with the predicables; and, in fact, secondary Substances are species and genus; whilst the remaining nine forms are generally accidents. But, again, we may [Pg 368]expect some agreement between them and the fundamental forms of predication (ante, chap. i. § 5, and chap. ii § 4): Substance, whether as the foundation of attributes, or as genus and species, implies the predication of co-inherence, which is one mode of Co-existence. Quantity is predicated as equality (or inequality) a mode of Likeness; and the other mode of Likeness is involved in the predication of Quality. Relation, indeed, is the abstract of all predication, and ought not to appear in a list along with special forms of itself. 'Where' is position, or Co-existence in space; and 'When' is position in time, or Succession. Action and Passion are the most interesting aspect of Causation. Posture and Habit are complex modes of Co-existence, but too specialised to have any philosophic value. Now, I do not pretend that this is what Aristotle meant and was trying to say: but if Likeness, Co-existence, Succession and Causation are fundamental forms of predication, a good mind analysing the fact of predication is likely to happen upon them in one set of words or another.
If, however, the challenges are categories of terms that can be said about something, we can expect some connection with those categories; and actually, secondary substances are species and genus; while the other nine forms are usually accidents. But again, we might [Pg 368]anticipate some alignment between them and the basic forms of predication (before, chap. i. § 5, and chap. ii § 4): Substance, whether as the basis of attributes or as genus and species, suggests the predication of co-inherence, which is one way of Co-existence. Quantity is described as equality (or inequality), a way of Likeness; and the other way of Likeness is involved in the description of Quality. Relation, indeed, is the essence of all predication and shouldn't be listed alongside its specific forms. 'Where' refers to location, or Co-existence in space; and 'When' refers to location in time, or Succession. Action and Passion are the most intriguing aspects of Causation. Posture and Habit are complex forms of Co-existence, but too specific to hold any philosophical significance. Now, I don't claim that this is exactly what Aristotle intended to convey: but if Likeness, Co-existence, Succession, and Causation are fundamental forms of predication, a thoughtful mind analyzing the concept of predication is likely to encounter them in one way or another.
By Kant the word 'Category' has been appropriated to the highest forms of judgment, such as Unity, Reality, Substance, and Cause, under which the understanding reduces phenomena to order and thereby constitutes Nature. This change of meaning has not been made without a certain continuity of thought; for forms of judgment are modes of predication. But besides altering the lists of categories and greatly improving it, Kant has brought forward under an old title a doctrine so original and suggestive that it has extensively influenced the subsequent history of Philosophy. At the same time, and probably as a result of the vogue of the Kantian philosophy, the word 'category' has been vulgarised as a synonym for 'class,' just as 'predicament' long ago passed from Scholastic Logic into common use as a synonym for 'plight.' A minister is said to be 'in a predicament,' or to fall under the 'category of impostors.'
By Kant, the term 'Category' has been taken to refer to the highest forms of judgment, like Unity, Reality, Substance, and Cause, under which the mind organizes phenomena and thus creates Nature. This shift in meaning has happened with some continuity of thought, since forms of judgment are ways of making assertions. However, in addition to changing and significantly improving the list of categories, Kant introduced a doctrine that is so original and thought-provoking that it has greatly influenced the later development of Philosophy. At the same time, likely due to the popularity of Kantian philosophy, the word 'category' has become common as a synonym for 'class,' just as 'predicament' long ago moved from Scholastic Logic into everyday language as a synonym for 'plight.' A minister is said to be 'in a predicament' or to fall under the 'category of impostors.'
CHAPTER XXIII
DEFINITION OF COMMON TERMS
§ 1. Ordinary words may need definition, if in the course of exposition or argument their meaning is liable to be mistaken. But as definition cannot give one the sense of a popular word for all occasions of its use, it is an operation of great delicacy. Fixity of meaning in the use of single words is contrary to the genius of the common vocabulary; since each word, whilst having a certain predominant character, must be used with many shades of significance, in order to express the different thoughts and feelings of multitudes of men in endlessly diversified situations; and its force, whenever it is used, is qualified by the other words with which it is connected in a sentence, by its place in the construction of the sentence, by the emphasis, or by the pitch of its pronunciation compared with the other words.
§ 1. Ordinary words might need to be defined if their meaning could be misunderstood during explanation or argument. However, since definitions can't capture the full sense of a popular word for all its uses, this task is quite delicate. The idea of a fixed meaning for individual words goes against the nature of everyday language; each word, while having a primary meaning, needs to convey many shades of significance to express the varied thoughts and feelings of countless people in countless different situations. Its impact, whenever it's used, is shaped by the other words it’s paired with in a sentence, its position in the sentence structure, the emphasis placed on it, or the tone of its pronunciation in relation to the other words.
Clearly, the requisite of a scientific language, 'that every word shall have one meaning well defined,' is too exacting for popular language; because the other chief requisite of scientific language cannot be complied with, 'that there be no important meaning without a name.' 'Important meanings,' or what seem such, are too numerous to be thus provided for; and new ones are constantly arising, as each of us pursues his business or his pleasure, his meditations or the excursions of his fancy. It is impossible to have a separate term for each meaning; and, therefore, the terms we have must admit of variable application.
Clearly, the requirement for a scientific language, 'that every word should have one well-defined meaning,' is too strict for everyday language because the other main requirement of scientific language can't be met, 'that there be no important meaning without a name.' 'Important meanings,' or what seem to be important, are too numerous to cover in this way, and new ones keep emerging as each of us goes about our work or leisure, our thoughts, or the whims of our imagination. It's impossible to have a unique term for every meaning; therefore, the terms we use must allow for flexible interpretation.
An attempt to introduce new words is generally disgusting. Few men have mastered the uses of half the words already to be found in our classics. Much more would be lost than gained by doubling the dictionary. It is true that, at certain stages in the growth of a people, a need may be widely felt for the adoption of new words: such, in our own case, was the period of the Tudors and early Stuarts. Many fresh words, chiefly from the Latin, then appeared in books, were often received with reprobation and derision, sometimes disappeared again, sometimes established their footing in the language: see The Art of English Poetry (ascribed to Puttenham), Book III. chap. 4, and Ben Jonson's Poetaster, Act. V. sc. I. Good judges did not know whether a word was really called for: even Shakespeare thought 'remuneration' and 'accommodate' ridiculous. But such national exigencies rarely arise; and in our own time great authors distinguish themselves by the plastic power with which they make common words convey uncommon meanings.
An attempt to introduce new words is usually off-putting. Few people have mastered even half the words already found in our classics. We would lose more than we would gain by expanding the dictionary. It’s true that, during certain periods of a society's development, there might be a strong demand for new words: such was the case during the time of the Tudors and early Stuarts. Many new words, mostly from Latin, appeared in literature, often met with disapproval and mockery, some faded away while others became established in the language: see The Art of English Poetry (attributed to Puttenham), Book III. chap. 4, and Ben Jonson's Poetaster, Act. V. sc. I. Even good judges were uncertain about whether a word was genuinely needed: Shakespeare himself considered 'remuneration' and 'accommodate' to be silly. However, such national needs rarely occur; and in our time, great authors stand out by skillfully giving common words unique meanings.
Fluid, however, as popular language is and ought to be, it may be necessary for the sake of clear exposition, or to steady the course of an argument, to avoid either sophistry or unintentional confusion, that words should be defined and discriminated; and we must discuss the means of doing so.
Fluid, as popular language is and should be, it may be necessary for clear explanation, or to keep an argument on track, to avoid either tricky reasoning or unintentional confusion, that words should be defined and distinguished; and we need to discuss how to do that.
§ 2. Scientific method is applicable, with some qualifications, to the definition of ordinary words. Classification is involved in any problem of definition: at least, if our object is to find a meaning that shall be generally acceptable and intelligible. No doubt two disputants may, for their own satisfaction, adopt any arbitrary definition of a word important in their controversy; or, any one may define a word as he pleases, at the risk of being misunderstood, provided he has no fraudulent intention. But in exposition or argument addressed to the public, where words are used in some of their ordinary senses, it should [Pg 371]be recognised that the meaning of each one involves that of many others. For language has grown with the human mind, as representing its knowledge of the world: this knowledge consists of the resemblances and differences of things and of the activities of things, that is, of classes and causes; and as there is such order in the world, so there must be in language: language, therefore, embodies an irregular classification of things with their attributes and relations according to our knowledge and beliefs. The best attempt (known to me) to carry out this view is contained in Roget's Thesaurus, which is a classification of English words according to their meanings: founded, as the author tells us, on the models of Zoology and Botany, it has some of the requisites of a Logical Dictionary.
§ 2. The scientific method can be applied, with some exceptions, to defining everyday words. Classification is part of any definition problem, especially if we want to find a meaning that is generally accepted and understandable. Of course, two people arguing may adopt any definition of a word that's important to their debate for their own satisfaction, or anyone can define a word however they want, risking misunderstanding, as long as there’s no intention to deceive. However, when explaining or arguing in public, where words are used in their more common meanings, it should be acknowledged that the meaning of one word involves many others. Language has evolved alongside human thought, representing our understanding of the world: this understanding consists of the similarities and differences among things and their activities, which refers to classes and causes; and just as there is order in the world, there should be order in language as well. Therefore, language captures a somewhat chaotic classification of things with their characteristics and connections based on our knowledge and beliefs. The best attempt (that I know of) to put this idea into practice is in Roget's Thesaurus, which is a classification of English words based on their meanings. As the author states, it is modeled after the classifications used in Zoology and Botany and has some features of a Logical Dictionary. [Pg 371]
Popular language, indeed, having grown up with a predominantly practical purpose, represents a very imperfect classification philosophically considered. Things, or aspects, or processes of things, that have excited little interest, have often gone unnamed: so that scientific discoverers are obliged, for scientific purposes, to invent thousands of new names. Strong interests, on the other hand, give such a colour to language, that, where they enter, it is difficult to find any indifferent expressions. Consistency being much prized, though often the part of a blockhead, inconsistency implies not merely the absence of the supposed virtue, but a positive vice: Beauty being attractive and ugliness the reverse, if we invent a word for that which is neither, 'plainness,' it at once becomes tinged with the ugly. We seem to love beauty and morality so much as to be almost incapable of signifying their absence without expressing aversion.
Popular language, having primarily developed for practical purposes, is a pretty imperfect classification when you think about it philosophically. Things, or aspects, or processes that haven't really piqued much interest often end up going unnamed, which forces scientific discoverers to create thousands of new terms for their work. On the flip side, strong interests bring such a hue to language that it’s tough to find neutral expressions where they prevail. Consistency is highly valued, even though it can sometimes be a trait of a fool; inconsistency not only suggests a lack of this supposed virtue but also implies a real flaw. Beauty is appealing while ugliness is the opposite; if we come up with a term for something that’s neither, like 'plainness,' it quickly takes on an ugly connotation. It seems we cherish beauty and morality to the point that we can hardly refer to their absence without showing some dislike.
Again, the erroneous theories of mankind have often found their way into popular speech, and their terms have remained there long after the rejection of the beliefs they embodied: as—lunatic, augury, divination, spell, exorcism: though, to be sure, such words may often be [Pg 372]turned to good account, besides the interest of preserving their original sense. Language is a record as well as an index of ideas.
Again, the mistaken ideas of humanity have often made their way into everyday language, and their terms have stuck around long after the beliefs they represented were discarded: like—lunatic, augury, divination, spell, exorcism. Of course, these words can often be [Pg 372]used effectively, in addition to the interest in keeping their original meanings. Language is both a record and an index of ideas.
Language, then, being essentially classificatory, any attempt to ascertain the meaning of a word, far from neglecting its relations to others, should be directed toward elucidating them.
Language, being fundamentally about classification, any effort to determine the meaning of a word should focus on clarifying its connections to other words, rather than ignoring them.
Every word belongs to a group, and this group to some other larger group. A group is sometimes formed by derivation, at least so far as different meanings are marked merely by inflections, as short, shorter, shorten, shortly; but, for the most part, is a conflux of words from many different sources. Repose, depose, suppose, impose, propose, are not nearly connected in meaning; but are severally allied in sense much more closely with words philologically remote. Thus repose is allied with rest, sleep, tranquillity; disturbance, unrest, tumult; whilst depose is, in one sense, allied with overthrow, dismiss, dethrone; restore, confirm, establish; and, in another sense, with declare, attest, swear, prove, etc. Groups of words, in fact, depend on their meanings, just as the connection of scientific names follows the resemblance in character of the things denoted.
Every word belongs to a category, and this category is part of a larger group. A category can sometimes be formed by derivation, especially when different meanings are shown only by inflections, like short, shorter, shorten, shortly; but mostly, it’s a mix of words from various sources. Words like repose, depose, suppose, impose, propose aren’t closely related in meaning; however, they are much more closely connected in sense with words that are linguistically distant. For example, repose is linked to rest, sleep, tranquility; disturbance, unrest, tumult; whereas depose relates, in one sense, to overthrow, dismiss, dethrone; restore, confirm, establish; and in another sense, to declare, attest, swear, prove, etc. Word categories, in fact, depend on their meanings, just like the way scientific names are organized based on similarities in characteristics of the things they refer to.
Words, accordingly, stand related to one another, for the most part, though very irregularly, as genus, species, and co-ordinate species. Taking repose as a genus, we have as species of it, though not exactly co-ordinate with one another, tranquillity with a mental differentia (repose of mind), rest, whether of mind or body, sleep, with the differentia of unconsciousness (privative). Synonyms are species, or varieties, wherever any difference can be detected in them; and to discriminate them we must first find the generic meaning; for which there may, or may not, be a single word. Thus, equality, sameness, likeness, similarity, resemblance, identity, are synonyms; but, if we attend to the ways in which they are actually used, perhaps none of them [Pg 373]can claim to be a genus in relation to the rest. If so, we must resort to a compound term for the genus, such as 'absence of some sort of difference.' Then equality is absence of difference in quantity; sameness is often absence of difference in quality, though the usage is not strict: likeness, similarity, and resemblance, in their actual use, perhaps, cannot be discriminated; unless likeness be the more concrete, similarity the more abstract; but they may all be used compatibly with the recognition of more or less difference in the things compared, and even imply this. Identity is the absence of difference of origin, a continuity of existence, with so much sameness from moment to moment as is compatible with changes in the course of nature; so that egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, butterfly may be identical for the run of an individual life, in spite of differences quantitative and qualitative, as truly as a shilling that all the time lies in a drawer.
Words are generally related to each other, but in an irregular way, like genus, species, and co-ordinate species. Taking repose as a genus, the species under it include tranquillity (repose of mind), rest (of mind or body), and sleep (which involves unconsciousness). Synonyms are species or varieties where any differences can be noticed, and to distinguish them, we first need to identify the generic meaning, which may or may not have a single word. For example, equality, sameness, likeness, similarity, resemblance, and identity are synonyms; however, if we look at how they are actually used, none of them [Pg 373] can truly claim to be a genus regarding the others. If that’s the case, we should use a compound term for the genus, like 'absence of some sort of difference.' In this context, equality means absence of difference in quantity; sameness usually refers to the absence of difference in quality, though this isn’t strictly enforced: likeness, similarity, and resemblance might be indistinguishable in their actual usage; unless we consider likeness to be more concrete and similarity to be more abstract. They can all be used while acknowledging that there may be more or less difference in the things being compared, and they can even suggest this. Identity signifies the absence of difference in origin and indicates a continuity of existence, with enough sameness from moment to moment that allows changes inherent to nature; thus, an egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, and butterfly may all be considered identical throughout an individual life, despite their quantitative and qualitative differences, just as a shilling lying in a drawer remains the same coin.
Co-ordinate Species, when positive, have the least contrariety; but there are also opposites, namely, negatives, contradictories and fuller contraries. These may be regarded as either co-ordinate genera or the species of co-ordinate genera. Thus, repose being a genus, not-repose is by dichotomy a co-ordinate genus and is a negative and contradictory; then activity (implying an end in view), motion (limited to matter), disturbance (implying changes from a state of calm), tumult, etc., are co-ordinate species of not-repose, and are therefore co-ordinate opposites, or contraries, of the species of repose.
Coordinating species, when positive, have the least amount of contradiction; however, there are also opposites, specifically negatives, contradictories, and stronger contraries. These can be seen as either coordinating genera or the species of coordinating genera. For example, repose is a genus, while not-repose is, by distinction, a coordinating genus that acts as a negative and contradictory. Then, activity (implying a goal), motion (limited to physical matter), disturbance (indicating changes from a calm state), tumult, etc., are coordinating species of not-repose, and are therefore coordinating opposites, or contraries, of the species of repose.
As for correlative words, like master and slave, husband and wife, etc., it may seem far-fetched to compare them with the sexes of the same species of plants or animals; but there is this resemblance between the two cases, that sexual names are correlative, as 'lioness,' and that one sex of a species, like a correlative name, cannot be defined without implying the other; for if a distinctive attribute of one sex be mentioned (as the lion's mane), it is implied [Pg 374]that the other wants it, and apart from this implication the species is not defined: just as the definition of 'master' implies a 'slave' to obey.
As for paired terms like master and slave, husband and wife, etc., it might seem a stretch to compare them to the genders of the same species of plants or animals; however, there is a similarity between the two situations in that gendered names are interconnected, such as 'lioness,' and one gender of a species, like a paired term, can't be defined without referencing the other. For instance, if we mention a specific trait of one gender (like the lion's mane), it suggests that the other gender lacks it, and without this suggestion, the species isn't fully defined: just as the definition of 'master' implies the existence of a 'slave' to follow.
Common words, less precise than the terms of a scientific nomenclature, differ from them also in this, that the same word may occur in different genera. Thus, sleep is a species of repose as above; but it is also a species of unconsciousness, with co-ordinate species swoon, hypnotic state, etc. In fact, every word stands under as many distinct genera, at least, as there are simple or indefinable qualities to be enumerated in its definition.
Common words, which are less precise than scientific terms, also differ in that the same word can appear in different categories. For example, sleep is a type of repose as mentioned before, but it’s also a type of unconsciousness, alongside other types like swoon, hypnotic state, etc. In fact, every word fits into as many distinct categories as there are simple or undefined qualities to be listed in its definition.
§ 3. Partially similar to a scientific nomenclature, ordinary language has likewise a terminology for describing things according to their qualities and structure. Such is the function of all the names of colours, sounds, tastes, contrasts of temperature, of hardness, of pleasantness; in short, of all descriptive adjectives, and all names for the parts and processes of things. Any word connoting a quality may be used to describe many very different things, as long as they agree in that quality.
§ 3. Similar to scientific naming conventions, everyday language also has its own terminology for describing things based on their qualities and structure. This includes the names for colors, sounds, tastes, temperature contrasts, hardness, and pleasantness; essentially, all descriptive adjectives and all terms for the parts and processes of things. Any word that indicates a quality can be used to describe many very different things, as long as they share that quality.
But the quality connoted by a word, and treated as always the same quality, is often only analogically the same. We speak of a great storm, a great man, a great book; but great is in each case not only relative, implying small, and leaving open the possibility that what we call great is still smaller than something else of its kind, but it is also predicated with reference to some quality or qualities, which may be very different in the several cases of its application. If the book is prized for wisdom, or for imagination, its greatness lies in that quality; if the man is distinguished for influence, or for courage, his greatness is of that nature; if the storm is remarkable for violence, or for duration, its greatness depends on that fact. The word great, therefore, is not used for these things in the same sense, but only analogically and elliptically. Similarly with good, pure, free, strong, rich, and [Pg 375]so on. 'Rest' has not the same meaning in respect of a stone and of an animal, nor 'strong' in respect of thought and muscle, nor 'sweet' in respect of sugar and music. But here we come to the border between literal and figurative use; every one sees that figurative epithets are analogical; but by custom any figurative use may become literal.
But the quality implied by a word, treated as if it always means the same thing, is often only similar in an informal way. We talk about a great storm, a great man, a great book; however, great in each case is not only relative, suggesting something smaller, and allowing for the possibility that what we call great may still be less impressive than something else of its kind. It also refers to specific qualities, which can be very different in each instance. If the book is valued for its wisdom or imagination, its greatness is tied to that quality; if the man is recognized for his influence or courage, his greatness comes from that aspect; if the storm is noted for its violence or duration, its greatness hinges on that characteristic. Thus, the word great is not used for these things in the same sense, but only in a similar or indirect way. The same applies to words like good, pure, free, strong, rich, and [Pg 375] so on. 'Rest' doesn’t mean the same thing when talking about a stone and an animal, nor does 'strong' mean the same when referring to thought and muscle, nor does 'sweet' mean the same for sugar and music. But here we reach the line between literal and figurative use; everyone understands that figurative terms are analogical; however, through custom, any figurative use can become literal.
Again, many general names of widely different meaning, are brought together in describing any concrete object, as an animal, or a landscape, or in defining any specific term. This is the sense of the doctrine, that any concrete thing is a conflux of generalities or universals: it may at least be considered in this way; though it seems more natural to say, that an object presents these different aspects to a spectator, who, fully to comprehend it, must classify it in every aspect.
Again, many general names with very different meanings are grouped together when describing a concrete object, like an animal or a landscape, or when defining a specific term. This reflects the idea that any concrete thing is a mix of general concepts or universals: it can at least be seen this way; although it seems more natural to say that an object shows these different aspects to an observer, who must classify it in every aspect to fully understand it.
(1) Find the usage of good modern authors; that is (as they rarely define a word explicitly), consider what in various relations they use it to denote; from which uses its connotation may be collected.
(1) Look at how good modern authors use words; that is (since they rarely define a word directly), think about what they mean in different contexts; from those uses, you can gather its connotation.
(2) But if this process yield no satisfactory result, make a list of the things denoted, and of those denoted by the co-ordinate and opposite words; and observe the qualities in which the things denoted agree, and in which they differ from those denoted by the contraries and opposites. If 'civilisation' is to be defined, make lists of civilised peoples, of semi-civilised, of barbarous, and of savage: now, what things are common to civilised peoples and wanting in the others respectively? This is an exercise worth attempting. If poetry is to be defined, survey some typical examples of what good critics recognise as poetry, and compare them with examples of bad 'poetry,' literary prose, oratory, and science. Having determined the characteristics of each kind, arrange them opposite one [Pg 376]another in parallel columns. Whoever tries to define by this method a few important, frequently occurring words, will find his thoughts the clearer for it, and will collect by the way much information which may be more valuable than the definition itself, should he ever find one.
(2) If this process doesn’t give you a satisfactory result, create a list of the things being referred to, along with those represented by similar and opposing words. Then, pay attention to the qualities where the things being referred to agree and where they differ from those represented by the opposites. If you want to define 'civilization,' list civilized peoples, semi-civilized, barbaric, and savage groups: what traits are shared by civilized peoples that the others lack? This is a worthwhile exercise. If you want to define poetry, look at some typical examples that good critics recognize as poetry, and compare them with examples of poor 'poetry,' literary prose, speeches, and science. Once you’ve identified the characteristics of each type, organize them in opposite columns. Anyone who tries to define a few key, commonly used words this way will find their thoughts clearer and gather a lot of information that might be more valuable than the definition itself if they ever come across one.
(3) If the genus of a word to be defined is already known, the process may be shortened. Suppose the genus of poetry to be belles lettres (that is, 'appealing to good taste'), this suffices to mark it off from science; but since literary prose and oratory are also belles lettres, we must still seek the differentia of poetry by a comparison of it with these co-ordinate species. A compound word often exhibits genus and difference upon its face: as 're-turn,' 'inter-penetrate,' 'tuning-fork,' 'cricket-bat'; but the two last would hardly be understood without inspection or further description. And however a definition be discovered, it is well to state it per genus et differentiam.
(3) If you already know the general category of a word that needs defining, you can make the process quicker. Let’s say the general category of poetry is belles lettres (which means 'appealing to good taste'); this is enough to distinguish it from science. However, since literary prose and oratory also fall under belles lettres, we still need to identify what makes poetry different by comparing it to these related forms. A compound word often shows its category and difference clearly at first glance, like 're-turn,' 'inter-penetrate,' 'tuning-fork,' or 'cricket-bat'; but the last two might not be easily understood without looking closer or getting more details. No matter how you come up with a definition, it’s best to express it per genus et differentiam.
(4) In defining any term we should avoid encroaching upon the meaning of any of the co-ordinate terms; for else their usefulness is lessened: as by making 'law' include 'custom,' or 'wealth' include 'labour' or 'culture.'
(4) When defining any term, we should avoid overlapping with the meanings of any related terms; otherwise, their usefulness is reduced. For example, defining 'law' to include 'custom,' or 'wealth' to include 'labor' or 'culture.'
(5) If two or more terms happen to be exactly synonymous, it may be possible (and, if so, it is a service to the language) to divert one of them to any neighbouring meaning that has no determinate expression. Thus, Wordsworth and Coleridge took great pains to distinguish between Imagination and Fancy, which had become in common usage practically equivalent; and they sought to limit 'imagination' to an order of poetic effect, which (they said) had prevailed during the Elizabethan age, but had been almost lost during the Gallo-classic, and which it was their mission to restore. Co-ordinate terms often tend to coalesce and become synonymous, or one almost supersedes the other, to the consequent impoverishment of our speech. At present proposition (that something is [Pg 377]the fact) has almost driven out proposal (that it is desirable to co-operate in some action). Even good writers and speakers, by their own practice, encourage this confusion: they submit to Parliament certain 'propositions' (proposals for legislation), or even make 'a proposition of marriage.' Definition should counteract such a tendency.
(5) If two or more words end up being exactly the same in meaning, it might be possible (and if so, it helps the language) to shift one of them to a related meaning that doesn’t have a specific term. For example, Wordsworth and Coleridge worked hard to differentiate between Imagination and Fancy, which had come to be used interchangeably in everyday language. They aimed to restrict 'imagination' to a type of poetic effect that, according to them, was prominent during the Elizabethan era but had been largely lost during the Gallo-classic period, and which they believed it was their mission to revive. Similar terms often start to blend together and become synonymous, or one tends to replace the other, leading to a decline in our vocabulary. Right now, proposition (which means [Pg 377]the fact) has nearly eliminated proposal (which means it is desirable to work together on some action). Even skilled writers and speakers unintentionally promote this mix-up: they present to Parliament certain 'propositions' (suggestions for laws), or even make 'a proposition of marriage.' Definitions should help prevent this trend.
(6) We must avoid the temptation to extend the denotation of a word so far as to diminish or destroy its connotation; or to increase its connotation so much as to render it no longer applicable to things which it formerly denoted: we should neither unduly generalise, nor unduly specialise, a term. Is it desirable to define education so as to include the 'lessons of experience'; or is it better to restrict it as implying a personal educator? If any word implies blame or praise, we are apt to extend it to everything we hate or approve. But coward cannot be so defined as to include all bullies, nor noble so as to include every honest man, without some loss in distinctness of thought.
(6) We need to resist the urge to stretch the meaning of a word so much that its associated ideas are weakened or lost; or to expand its associations so far that it no longer applies to the things it used to refer to: we should neither oversimplify nor overly complicate a term. Is it useful to define education as including 'lessons from experience'; or is it better to limit it to mean a personal teacher? When a word carries blame or praise, we tend to apply it to everything we dislike or approve of. Yet, coward can't be defined to include all bullies, nor can noble encompass every honest person, without losing some clarity of meaning.
The same impulses make us specialise words; for, if two words express approval, we wish to apply both to whatever we admire and to refuse both to whatever displeases us. Thus, a man may resolve to call no one great who is not good: greatness, according to him, connotes goodness: whence it follows that (say) Napoleon I. was not great. Another man is disgusted with greatness: according to him, good and great are mutually exclusive classes, sheep and goats, as in Gray's wretched clench: "Beneath the good how far, yet far above the great." In feet, however 'good' and 'great' are descriptive terms, sometimes applicable to the same object, sometimes to different: but 'great' is the wider term and applicable to goodness itself and also to badness; whereas by making 'great' connote goodness it becomes the narrower term. And as we have seen (§ 3), such epithets may be applicable to objects on account of different qualities: good is not predicated on the same ground of a man and of a horse.
The same instincts lead us to specialize in words; if two words express approval, we want to use both for things we admire and reject both for things we dislike. For instance, someone might decide not to call anyone great unless they are also good: for him, greatness implies goodness, which means that (let's say) Napoleon I. wasn’t great. Another person might be put off by greatness: for him, good and great are completely separate categories, like sheep and goats, as in Gray's unfortunate saying: "Beneath the good how far, yet far above the great." In reality, though, 'good' and 'great' are descriptive words, sometimes fitting the same thing and sometimes different ones: but 'great' covers a broader range and can apply to goodness and also to badness; however, by making 'great' imply goodness, it turns into a narrower term. And as we've seen (§ 3), such descriptions may refer to things because of different qualities: good isn’t based on the same criteria for a man as it is for a horse.
(7) In defining any word, it is desirable to bear in mind its derivation, and to preserve the connection of meaning with its origin; unless there are preponderant reasons for diverting it, grounded on our need of the word to express a certain sense, and the greater difficulty of finding any other word for the same purpose. It is better to lean to the classical than to the vulgar sense of 'indifferent,' 'impertinent,' 'aggravating,' 'phenomenal.'
(7) When defining any word, it's helpful to keep in mind where it comes from and maintain the connection between its meaning and origin; unless there are strong reasons to shift it, based on our need for the word to express a specific idea and the greater challenge of finding another word for the same purpose. It's better to favor the classical meaning over the common one for terms like 'indifferent,' 'impertinent,' 'aggravating,' and 'phenomenal.'
(8) Rigorous definition should not be attempted where the subject does not admit of it. Some kinds of things are so complex in their qualities, and each quality may manifest itself in so many degrees without ever admitting of exact measurement, that we have no means of marking them off precisely from other things nearly allied, similarly complex and similarly variable. If so we cannot precisely define their names. Imagination and fancy are of this nature, civilisation and barbarism, poetry and other kinds of literary expression. As to poetry, some think it only exists in metre, but hardly maintain that the metre must be strictly regular: if not, how much irregularity of rhythm is admissible? Others regard a certain mood of impassioned imagination as the essence of poetry; but they have never told us how great intensity of this mood is requisite. We also hear that poetry is of such a nature that the enjoyment of it is an end in itself; but as it is not maintained that poetry must be wholly impersuasive or uninstructive, there seems to be no means of deciding what amount or prominence of persuasion or instruction would transfer the work to the region of oratory or science. Such cases make the method of defining by the aid of a type really useful: the difficulty can hardly be got over without pointing to typical examples of each meaning, and admitting that there may be many divergences and unclassifiable instances on the border between allied meanings.
(8) We shouldn't try to define things rigorously when the subject doesn't allow for it. Some things are so complicated in their qualities, and each quality can show itself in so many ways without ever being measured exactly, that we can't clearly separate them from other similar, complex, and variable things. If that's the case, we can't precisely define their names. Imagination and creativity fall into this category, as do civilization and barbarism, poetry and other types of literary expression. When it comes to poetry, some people believe it only exists in meter, but they hardly argue that the meter must be strictly regular. If it doesn't, how much irregularity is acceptable? Others think that a certain mood of passionate imagination is what defines poetry, but they've never explained how intense this mood needs to be. We also hear that poetry is such that enjoying it is an end in itself; however, since it's not claimed that poetry must be completely persuasive or instructive, there doesn’t seem to be a clear way to determine what level or prominence of persuasion or instruction would shift the work into the realm of oratory or science. These situations show that defining by using a typical example is really useful: we can hardly overcome the difficulty without pointing to typical instances of each meaning and recognizing that there may be many variations and unclassifiable cases at the edges between similar meanings.
§ 5. As science began from common knowledge, the [Pg 379]terms of the common vocabulary have often been adopted into the sciences, and many are still found there: such as weight, mass, work, attraction, repulsion, diffusion, reflection, absorption, base, salt, and so forth. In the more exact sciences, the vague popular associations with such words are hardly an inconvenience: since those addicted to such studies do not expect to master them without undergoing special discipline; and, having precisely defined the terms, they acquire the habit of thinking with them according to their assigned signification in those investigations to which they are appropriate. It is in the Social Sciences, especially Economics and Ethics, that the use of popular terminology is at once unavoidable and prejudicial. For the subject-matters, industry and the conduct of life, are every man's business; and, accordingly, have always been discussed with a consciousness of their direct practical bearing upon public and private interests, and therefore in the common language, in order that everybody may as far as possible benefit by whatever light can be thrown upon them. The general practice of Economists and Moralists, however, shows that, in their judgment, the good derived from writing in the common vocabulary outweighs the evil: though it is sometimes manifest that they themselves have been misled by extra-scientific meanings. To reduce the evil as much as possible, the following precautions seem reasonable:
§ 5. As science originated from common knowledge, the [Pg 379]terms from everyday language have often been adopted into the sciences, and many are still present: like weight, mass, work, attraction, repulsion, diffusion, reflection, absorption, base, salt, and so on. In the more precise sciences, the vague popular meanings of these words are hardly a problem: since those committed to these studies don’t expect to master them without going through specific training; and, having clearly defined the terms, they get in the habit of thinking with them according to their given meanings in the investigations where they apply. It's in the Social Sciences, especially Economics and Ethics, that using everyday language is both necessary and problematic. The topics, industry and the way of life, concern everyone; thus, they have always been discussed with an awareness of their direct impact on public and private interests, and therefore in common language, so as to allow everyone to benefit as much as possible from any insight that can be provided. However, the general practices of Economists and Moralists indicate that they believe the benefits of writing in everyday language outweigh the drawbacks: although it is sometimes clear that they themselves have been misled by meanings outside of scientific definitions. To minimize the drawbacks as much as possible, the following precautions seem reasonable:
(1) To try to find and adopt the central meaning of the word (say rent or money) in its current or traditionary applications: so as to lessen in the greater number of cases the jar of conflicting associations. But if the central popular meaning does not correspond with the scientific conception to be expressed, it may be better to invent a new term.
(1) To find and adopt the main meaning of the word (like rent or money) in its current or traditional uses: to reduce the clash of conflicting associations in most cases. However, if the common meaning doesn’t match the scientific concept being expressed, it might be better to create a new term.
(2) To define the term with sufficient accuracy to secure its clear and consistent use for scientific purposes.
(2) To define the term accurately enough to ensure its clear and consistent use for scientific purposes.
The first of these rules is not always adhered to; and, in the progress of a science, as subtler and more abstract relations are discovered amongst the facts, the meaning of a term may have to be modified and shifted further and further from its popular use. The term 'rent,' for example, is used by economists, in such a sense that they have to begin the discussion of the facts it denotes, by explaining that it does not imply any actual payment by one man to another. Here, for most readers, the meaning they are accustomed to, seems already to have entirely disappeared. Difficulties may, however, be largely overcome by qualifying the term in its various relations, as produce-rents, ground-rents, customary rents, and so forth, (Cf. Dr. Keynes' Scope and Method of Political Economy, chap. 5.)
The first of these rules isn’t always followed; and as a science progresses, as more subtle and abstract connections are revealed among the facts, the meaning of a term may need to be changed and shifted further away from its common usage. The term 'rent,' for instance, is used by economists in a way that requires them to start the discussion by clarifying that it doesn’t mean any actual payment from one person to another. For most readers, the meaning they are used to seems to have completely vanished. However, many difficulties can be largely resolved by specifying the term in its different contexts, such as produce-rents, ground-rents, customary rents, and so on, (Cf. Dr. Keynes' Scope and Method of Political Economy, chap. 5.)
§ 6. Definitions affect the cogency of arguments in many ways, whether we use popular or scientific language. If the definitions of our terms are vague, or are badly abstracted from the facts denoted, all arguments involving these terms are inconclusive. There can be no confidence in reasoning with such terms; since, if vague, there is nothing to protect us from ambiguity; or, if their meaning has been badly abstracted, we may be led into absurdity—as if 'impudence' should be defined in such a way as to confound it with honesty.
§ 6. Definitions influence how effective arguments are in many ways, whether we use everyday or scientific language. If the definitions of our terms are unclear or poorly based on the actual facts, all arguments using these terms are uncertain. We can't trust reasoning with such terms; if they're vague, there's nothing to shield us from confusion; or if their meaning is poorly defined, we might be led to ridiculous conclusions—like defining 'impudence' in a way that confuses it with honesty.
Again, it is by definitions that we can best distinguish between Verbal and Real Propositions. Whether a term predicated is implied in the definition of the subject, or adds something to its meaning, deserves our constant attention. We often persuade ourselves that statements are profound and important, when, in fact, they are mere verbal propositions. "It is just to give every man his due"; "the greater good ought to be preferred to the [Pg 381]less"; such dicta sound well—indeed, too well! For 'a man's due' means nothing else than what it is just to give him; and 'the greater good' may mean the one that ought to be preferred: these, therefore, are Truisms. The investigation of a definition may be a very valuable service to thought; but, once found, there is no merit in repeating it. To put forward verbal or analytic propositions, or truisms, as information (except, of course, in explaining terms to the uninstructed), shows that we are not thinking what we say; for else we must become aware of our own emptiness. Every step forward in knowledge is expressed in a real or synthetic proposition; and it is only by means of such propositions that information can be given (except as to the meaning of words) or that an argument or train of reasoning can make any progress.
Once again, the best way to differentiate between Verbal and Real Propositions is through definitions. We need to pay close attention to whether a term used is already included in the definition of the subject or if it adds something new to its meaning. We often convince ourselves that certain statements are deep and significant when they are actually just verbal propositions. Phrases like "It is just to give every man his due" or "the greater good ought to be preferred to the less" sound impressive—maybe too impressive! After all, 'a man's due' simply means what it is right to give him, and 'the greater good' refers to what should be prioritized; these are therefore just Truisms. Examining a definition can be really helpful for our thinking, but once we have it, there's no value in repeating it. Presenting verbal or analytic propositions, or truisms, as information (unless it's to clarify terms for someone who doesn't understand) shows that we aren’t truly thinking about what we’re saying; otherwise, we would realize our own lack of substance. Every advance in knowledge is expressed in a real or synthetic proposition, and it's only through these types of propositions that we can convey information (apart from clarifying word meanings) or that an argument or line of reasoning can develop.
Opposed to a truism is a Contradiction in Terms; that is, the denying of a subject something which it connotes (or which belongs to its definition), or the affirming of it something whose absence it connotes (or which is excluded by its definition). A verbal proposition is necessarily true, because it is tautologous; a contradiction in terms is necessarily false, because it is inconsistent. Yet, as a rhetorical artifice, or figure, it may be effective: that 'the slave is not bound to obey his master' may be a way of saying that there ought to be no slaves; that 'property is theft,' is an uncompromising assertion of the communistic ideal. Similarly a truism may have rhetorical value: that 'a Negro is a man' has often been a timely reminder, or even that "a man's a man." It is only when we fall into such contradiction or tautology by lapse of thought, by not fully understanding our own words, that it becomes absurd.
A contradiction in terms opposes a self-evident truth; that is, it denies something that a subject suggests (or that is part of its definition), or asserts something whose absence it suggests (or that is ruled out by its definition). A verbal statement is always true because it is redundant; a contradiction in terms is always false because it does not make sense. However, as a rhetorical device or figure of speech, it can be powerful: saying 'the slave is not obligated to obey his master' can imply that there should be no slaves; claiming 'property is theft' is a bold statement of the communist ideal. Likewise, a self-evident truth can have rhetorical significance: the statement 'a Black man is a man' has often served as an important reminder, or even 'a man's a man.' It only becomes ridiculous when we slip into such contradictions or redundancies due to a failure to think clearly or because we don't fully grasp our own words.
Real Propositions comprise the predication of Propria and Accidentia. Accidentia, implying a sort of empirical law, can only be established by direct induction. But [Pg 382]propria are deduced from (or rather by means of) the definition with the help of real propositions, and this is what is called 'arguing from a Definition.' Thus, if increasing capacity for co-operation be a specific character of civilisation, 'great wealth' may be considered as a proprium of civilised as compared with barbarous nations. For co-operation is made most effectual by the division of labour, and that this is the chief condition of producing wealth is a real proposition. Such arguments from definitions concerning concrete facts and causation require verification by comparing the conclusion with the facts. The verification of this example is easy, if we do not let ourselves be misled in estimating the wealth of barbarians by the ostentatious "pearl and gold" of kings and nobles, where 99 per cent. of the people live in penury and servitude. The wealth of civilisation is not only great but diffused, and in its diffusion its greatness must be estimated.
Real propositions include the statements of properties and accidents. Accidents, which suggest a kind of empirical law, can only be established through direct observation. However, properties are derived from (or rather through) definitions with the aid of real propositions, which is known as "arguing from a definition." So, if a growing ability to cooperate is a specific trait of civilization, then "great wealth" can be seen as a property of civilized nations compared to barbaric ones. Cooperation is most effective through the division of labor, and the idea that this is the main factor in creating wealth is a real proposition. Arguments from definitions about concrete facts and causes need to be verified by comparing the conclusions to the facts. Verifying this example is straightforward, as long as we don't get misled by the flashy "pearls and gold" of kings and nobles, while 99 percent of the people live in poverty and servitude. The wealth of civilization is not only substantial but also spread out, and its greatness must be assessed based on this distribution.
To argue from a definition may be a process of several degrees of complexity. The simplest case is the establishing of a proprium as the direct consequence of some connoted attribute, as in the above example. If the definition has been correctly abstracted from the particulars, the particulars have the attributes summarised in the definition; and, therefore, they have whatever can be shown to follow from those attributes. But it frequently happens that the argument rests partly on the qualities connoted by the class name and partly on many other facts.
To argue from a definition can be a process with varying levels of complexity. The simplest case is establishing a specific characteristic as the direct result of some associated attribute, like in the example above. If the definition has been accurately derived from the specific details, then the details possess the attributes outlined in the definition; therefore, they have whatever can be shown to follow from those attributes. However, it often occurs that the argument relies partly on the qualities associated with the class name and partly on various other facts.
In Geometry, the proof of a theorem depends not only upon the definition of the figure or figures directly concerned, but also upon one or more axioms, and upon propria or constructions already established. Thus, in Euclid's fifth Proposition, the proof that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, depends not only on the equality of the opposite sides, but upon this [Pg 383]together with the construction that shows how from the greater of two lines a part may be cut off equal to the less, the proof that triangles that can be conceived to coincide are equal, and the axiom that if equals be taken from equals the remainders are equal. Similarly, in Biology, if colouring favourable to concealment is a proprium of carnivorous animals, it is not deducible merely from their predatory character or any other attribute entering into the definition of any species of them, but from their predatory character together with the causes summarised in the phrase 'Natural Selection'; that is, competition for a livelihood, and the destruction of those that labour under any disadvantages, of which conspicuous colouring would be one. The particular coloration of any given species, again, can only be deduced by further considering its habitat (desert, jungle or snowfield): a circumstance lying wholly outside the definition of the species.
In Geometry, proving a theorem relies not only on the definition of the relevant shapes but also on one or more axioms and previously established constructions. For example, in Euclid's fifth Proposition, the proof that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal is based not just on the equality of the opposite sides but also on the principle that from a longer line, a segment equal to the shorter line can be cut off, the fact that triangles that can be imagined to overlap are equal, and the axiom that if you subtract equal amounts from equals, the remainders are equal. Similarly, in Biology, if camouflage is a characteristic of carnivorous animals, it can't be inferred solely from their predatory nature or other attributes that define their species, but rather from their predatory nature together with the principle of 'Natural Selection'; that is, competition for survival and the elimination of those at a disadvantage, such as those with noticeable coloring. The specific coloration of any species can only be determined by considering its environment (desert, jungle, or snowfield), which is completely outside the species' definition.
The validity of an argument based partly or wholly on a definition depends, in the first place, on the existence of things corresponding with the definition—that is, having the properties connoted by the name defined. If there are no such things as isosceles triangles, Euclid's fifth Proposition is only formally true, like a theorem concerning the fourth dimension of space: merely consistent with his other assumptions. But if there be any triangles only approximately isosceles, the proof applies to them, making allowance for their concrete imperfection: the nearer their sides approach straightness and equality the more nearly equal will the opposite angles be.
The validity of an argument that relies partly or completely on a definition depends first on the existence of things that match that definition—that is, possessing the properties implied by the name defined. If isosceles triangles don’t actually exist, then Euclid's fifth Proposition is only formally true, like a theorem about the fourth dimension of space: it just aligns with his other assumptions. However, if there are triangles that are somewhat isosceles, the proof still applies to them, accounting for their real-life imperfections: the closer their sides get to being straight and equal, the more nearly equal their opposite angles will be.
Again, as to the things corresponding with terms defined, according to Dr. Venn, their 'existence' may be understood in several senses: (1) merely for the reason, like the pure genera and species of Porphyry's tree; the sole condition of whose being is logical consistency: or (2) for the imagination, like the giants and magicians of [Pg 384]romance, the heroes of tragedy and the fairies of popular superstition; whose properties may be discussed, and verified by appeal to the right documents and authorities (poems and ballads): or (3) for perception, like plants, animals, stones and stars. Only the third class exist in the proper sense of the word. But under a convention or hypothesis of existence, we may argue from the definition of a fairy, or a demigod, or a dragon, and deduce various consequences without absurdity, if we are content with poetic consistency and the authority of myths and romances as the test of truth.
Again, regarding the things associated with defined terms, according to Dr. Venn, their 'existence' can be understood in several ways: (1) merely for logical reasons, like the pure categories in Porphyry's tree, which only require logical consistency for their existence; or (2) for imagination, like the giants and wizards in romance, the heroes of tragedy, and the fairies of popular folklore, whose characteristics can be discussed and verified by referring to the right documents and sources (like poems and ballads); or (3) for perception, like plants, animals, stones, and stars. Only the third category truly exists in the proper sense of the word. However, under a convention or assumption of existence, we can reason from the definitions of a fairy, a demigod, or a dragon and draw various conclusions without falling into absurdity, as long as we are satisfied with poetic consistency and the authority of myths and romances as our criteria for truth.
In the region of concrete objects, whose properties are causes, and neither merely fictions nor determinations of space (as in Geometry), we meet with another condition of the validity of any argument depending on a definition: there must not only be objects corresponding to the definition, but there must be no other causes counteracting those qualities on whose agency our argument relies. Thus, though we may infer from the quality of co-operation connoted by civilisation, that a civilised country will be a wealthy one, this may not be found true of such a country recently devastated by war or other calamity. Nor can co-operation always triumph over disadvantageous circumstances. Scandinavia is so poor in the gifts of nature favourable to industry, that it is not wealthy in spite of civilisation: still, it is far wealthier than it would be in the hands of a barbarous people. In short, when arguing from a definition, we can only infer the tendency of any causal characteristics included in it; the unqualified realisation of such a tendency must depend upon the absence of counteracting causes. As soon as we leave the region of pure conceptions and make any attempt to bring our speculations home to the actual phenomena of nature or of human life, the verification of every inference becomes an unremitting obligation.
In the world of concrete objects, where properties are causes, and not just imagined or spatial determinations (like in Geometry), we encounter another condition for the validity of any argument based on a definition: there must be objects that match the definition, and there can't be other causes that counteract the qualities our argument depends on. So, while we might assume that a civilised country will be wealthy because of its cooperative nature, this might not hold true for a country that has recently suffered from war or other disasters. Cooperation can't always overcome tough circumstances. For example, Scandinavia lacks natural resources that benefit industry, so it isn't wealthy despite its civilization; however, it is still much wealthier than it would be if it were controlled by a barbaric society. In summary, when arguing from a definition, we can only suggest the tendency of any causal traits included in it; achieving that tendency without opposing causes is another matter. Once we move from pure concepts to trying to apply our ideas to the real world or human life, verifying every conclusion becomes a constant responsibility.
CHAPTER XXIV
FALLACIES
§ 1. A Fallacy is any failure to fulfil the conditions of proof. If we neglect or mistake the conditions of proof unintentionally, whether in our private meditations or in addressing others, it is a Paralogism: but if we endeavour to pass off upon others evidence or argument which we know or suspect to be unsound, it is a Sophism.
§ 1. A fallacy is any failure to meet the requirements of proof. If we overlook or misinterpret the requirements of proof unintentionally, whether in our own thoughts or when speaking to others, it's a paralogism; but if we try to convince others with evidence or arguments that we know or suspect to be faulty, it's a sophism.
Fallacies, whether paralogisms or sophisms, may be divided into two classes: (a) the Formal, or those that can be shown to conflict with one or more of the truths of Logic, whether Deductive or Inductive; as if we attempt to prove an universal affirmative in the Third Figure; or to argue that, as the average expectation of life for males at the age of 20 is 19½ years, therefore Alcibiades, being 20 years of age, will die when he is 39½; (b) the Material, or those that cannot be clearly exhibited as transgressions of any logical principle, but are due to superficial inquiry or confused reasoning; as in adopting premises on insufficient authority, or without examining the facts; or in mistaking the point to be proved.
Fallacies, whether they are paralogisms or sophisms, can be categorized into two types: (a) Formal, which are those that can be shown to conflict with one or more truths of Logic, whether Deductive or Inductive; for example, trying to prove a universal affirmative in the Third Figure, or arguing that since the average life expectancy for males at age 20 is 19½ years, Alcibiades, who is 20 years old, will die when he is 39½; (b) Material, which are those that cannot be clearly identified as violations of any logical principle but arise from superficial investigation or unclear reasoning; such as accepting premises based on insufficient authority or without examining the facts, or misunderstanding the point that needs to be proven.
(1) It is not uncommon to mistake the Contrary for the Contradictory, as—A is not taller than B, ∴ he is shorter.
(1) It's not unusual to confuse the Contrary with the Contradictory, because—A is not taller than B, therefore he is shorter.
(2) To convert A. or O. simply, as—
(2) To convert A. or O. easily, like—
or—Some Wealth is not Money ∴ Some Money is not Wealth.
or—Some wealth isn't money ∴ Some money isn't wealth.
In both these cases, Wealth, though undistributed in the convertend, is distributed in the converse.
In both of these situations, wealth, even if not distributed in the way it should be, is distributed in the opposite way.
(3) To attempt to syllogise with two premises containing four terms, as
(3) To try to reason logically with two statements that have four terms, as
∴ The Javanese are uncivilized.
Such an argument is excluded by the definition of a Syllogism, and presents no formal evidence whatever. We should naturally assume that any man who advanced it merely meant to raise some probability that 'neighbourhood is a sign of community of ideas and customs.' But, if so, he should have been more explicit. There would, of course, be the same failure of connection, if a fourth term were introduced into the conclusion, instead of into the premises.
Such an argument is ruled out by the definition of a Syllogism and provides no formal evidence at all. We would naturally think that anyone who put it forward just wanted to suggest that "neighborhood is a sign of shared ideas and customs." But if that’s the case, he should have been clearer. Of course, there would also be the same disconnect if a fourth term were added to the conclusion instead of the premises.
(4) To distribute in the conclusion a term that was undistributed in the premises (an error essentially the same as (2) above), i.e., Illicit process of the major or minor term, as—
(4) To include in the conclusion a term that wasn't fully accounted for in the premises (which is basically the same error as (2) above), i.e., an illicit process of the major or minor term, as—
∴ Beasts are not accountable.
In this example (from Whately), an illegitimate mood of Fig. I., the major term, 'accountable,' has suffered the illicit process; since, in the premise, it is predicate of an affirmative proposition and, therefore, undistributed; but, in the conclusion, it is predicate of a negative proposition and, therefore, distributed. The fact that nearly everybody would accept the conclusion as true, might lead one to overlook the formal inconclusiveness of the proof.
In this example (from Whately), the illegitimate mood of Fig. I., the major term, 'accountable,' has gone through an improper process; in the premise, it serves as the predicate of an affirmative statement and is, therefore, undistributed; however, in the conclusion, it is the predicate of a negative statement and is, thus, distributed. The fact that almost everyone would agree with the conclusion as true might cause one to miss the formal lack of conclusiveness in the proof.
Again,
Again,
∴ All cooking animals are male.
Here we have Bramantip concluding in A.; and there is, formally, an illicit process of the minor; though the conclusion is true; and the evidence, such as it is, is materially adequate. ('Two-handed,' being a peculiar differentia, is nugatory as a middle term, and may be cut out of both premises; whilst 'cooking' is a proprium peculiar to the species Man; so that these terms might be related in U., All men are all cookers; whence, by conversion, All cookers are men.)
Here we have Bramantip concluding in A.; however, there is technically an inappropriate process of the minor; even though the conclusion is correct; and the evidence, as it stands, is sufficiently adequate. ('Two-handed,' being a unique characteristic, is useless as a middle term and can be removed from both premises; while 'cooking' is a characteristic specific to the species Man; thus, these terms could be related in U., All men are all cookers; from which, by conversion, All cookers are men.)
(5) To omit to distribute the middle term in one or the other premise, as—
(5) To fail to distribute the middle term in one or the other premise, as—
All axioms are obvious:
Therefore, all axioms are verbal statements.
This is an illegitimate mood in Fig. II.; in which, to give any conclusion, one premise must be negative. It may serve as a formal illustration of Undistributed Middle; though, as both premises are verbal propositions, it is (materially) not syllogistic at all, but an error of classification; a confounding of co-ordinate species by assuming their identity because they have the generic attribute in common.
This is an invalid mood in Fig. II.; where, to reach any conclusion, one premise must be negative. It can act as a formal example of Undistributed Middle; however, since both premises are verbal propositions, it is (materially) not syllogistic at all, but a mistake in classification; a mixing up of equal species by assuming they are the same because they share the generic attribute.
(6) To simply convert an hypothetical proposition, as—
(6) To simply convert a hypothetical proposition, like—
If trade is successful, it is free.
This is similar to the simple conversion of the categorical A.; since it takes for granted that the antecedent is co-extensive with the consequent, or (in other words) that the freedom of trade is the sole condition of, or (at least) inseparable from, its prosperity.
This is similar to the straightforward conversion of the categorical A.; it assumes that the antecedent is equivalent to the consequent, or in other words, that trade freedom is the only condition for, or at least closely tied to, its success.
The same assumption is made if, in an hypothetical syllogism, we try to ground an inference on the affirmation of the consequent or denial of the antecedent, as—
The same assumption applies if, in a hypothetical syllogism, we attempt to base an inference on the affirmation of the consequent or the denial of the antecedent, as—
It thrives;
It's free. It isn't free; It doesn't succeed.
Neither of these arguments is formally good; nor, of course, is either of them materially valid, if it be possible for trade to prosper in spite of protective tariffs.
Neither of these arguments is really strong; and, of course, neither is materially valid if trade can thrive despite protective tariffs.
An important example of this fallacy is the prevalent notion, that if the conclusion of an argument is true the premises must be trustworthy; or, that if the premises are false the conclusion must be erroneous. For, plainly, that—
An important example of this fallacy is the common belief that if the conclusion of an argument is true, the premises must be reliable; or that if the premises are false, the conclusion must be incorrect. For, clearly, that—
If the premises are true, the conclusion is true, is a hypothetical proposition; and we argue justly—
If the premises are true, the conclusion is true, is a hypothetical statement; and we argue justly—
Thus, the premises are false (or at least one of them is).
This is valid for every argument that is formally correct; but that we cannot trust the premises on the strength of the conclusion, nor reject the conclusion because the premises are absurd, the following example will show:
This applies to every argument that is logically valid; however, we can't trust the premises just because the conclusion is sound, nor can we dismiss the conclusion simply because the premises are ridiculous, as the following example will demonstrate:
Newton squared the circle: Newton was an incredible mathematician.
The conclusion is true; but the premises are intolerable.
The conclusion is accurate; but the premises are unacceptable.
How the taking of Contraries for Contradictories may vitiate Disjunctive Syllogisms and Dilemmas has been sufficiently explained in the twelfth chapter.
How using contraries instead of contradictories can weaken disjunctive syllogisms and dilemmas has been clearly explained in the twelfth chapter.
(1) To assign the Cause of anything that is not a concrete event: as, e.g., why two circles can touch only in one point. We should give the 'reason'; for this expression includes, besides evidence of causation, the principles of formal deduction, logical and mathematical.
(1) To explain the reason for anything that isn't a concrete event: for example, why two circles can only touch at one point. We should provide the 'reason'; because this expression includes not just evidence of causation, but also the principles of formal deduction, both logical and mathematical.
(2) To argue, as if on inductive grounds, concerning the cause of the Universe as a whole. This may be called the fallacy of transcendent inference: since the Canons are only applicable to instances of events that can be compared; they cannot deal with that which is in its nature unique.
(2) To argue, as if based on inductive reasoning, about the cause of the Universe as a whole. This could be called the fallacy of transcendent inference: since the rules only apply to instances of events that can be compared; they cannot address what is inherently unique.
(3) To mistake co-existent phenomena for cause and effect: as when a man, wearing an amulet and escaping shipwreck, regards the amulet as the cause of his escape. To prove his point, he must either get again into exactly the same circumstances without his amulet, and be drowned—according to the method of Difference; or, shirking the only satisfactory test, and putting up with mere Agreement, he must show, (a) that all who are shipwrecked and escape wear amulets, and (b) that their cases agree in nothing else; and (c), by the Joint Method, that all who are shipwrecked without amulets are drowned. And even if his evidence, according to Agreement, seemed satisfactory at all these points, it would still be fallacious to trust to it as proof of direct causation; since we have seen that unaided observation is never sufficient for this: it is only by experiment in prepared circumstances that we can confidently trace sequence and the transfer of energy.
(3) Misunderstanding co-existing phenomena as cause and effect: like when someone, wearing an amulet and surviving a shipwreck, thinks the amulet is why they escaped. To prove this, they would need to get back into exactly the same situation without their amulet and drown—following the method of Difference; or, avoiding the only reliable test and settling for mere Agreement, they must show, (a) that everyone who survives a shipwreck wears amulets, and (b) that their cases don’t have anything else in common; and (c), using the Joint Method, that everyone who is shipwrecked without amulets drowns. Even if their evidence based on Agreement seemed valid at all these points, it would still be misleading to rely on it as proof of direct causation; since we’ve established that simple observation is never enough for this: only through experiments in controlled conditions can we reliably track sequences and the transfer of energy.
There is the reverse error of mistaking causal connection for independent co-existence: as if any one regards it as merely a curious coincidence that great rivers generally flow past great towns. In this case, however, the evi[Pg 390]dence of connection does not depend merely upon direct Induction.
There is the opposite mistake of confusing causal relationships with independent co-existence: as if someone thinks it's just a strange coincidence that major rivers typically run through major towns. In this case, however, the evidence of connection doesn't rely solely on direct induction.
(4) Post hoc, ergo propter hoc: to accept the mere sequence of phenomena, even though often repeated, as proving that the phenomena are cause and effect, or connected by causation. This is a very natural error: for although, the antecedents of a phenomenon being numerous, most of them cannot be its cause, yet it is among them that the cause must be sought. Indeed, if there is neither time nor opportunity for analysis, it may seem better to accept any antecedent as a cause (or, at least, as a sign) of an important event than to go without any guide. And, accordingly, the vast and complicated learning of omens, augury, horoscopy and prophetic dreams, relies upon this maxim; for whatever the origin of such superstitions, a single coincidence in their favour triumphantly confirms them. It is the besetting delusion of everybody who has wishes or prejudices; that is, of all of us at some time or other; for then we are ready to believe without evidence. The fallacy consists in judging off-hand, without any attempt, either by logic or by common sense, to eliminate the irrelevant antecedents; which may include all the most striking and specious.
(4) Post hoc, ergo propter hoc: believing that just because one event follows another, it proves that the first event caused the second, or that they are connected by causation. This is a common mistake: even though there are many potential causes for an event, most of them can't be the actual cause, yet it's within this group that the true cause is usually found. In fact, when there's no time or ability to analyze, it might seem easier to accept any preceding event as a cause (or at least as a sign) of a significant occurrence rather than having nothing to guide us. Thus, the extensive and intricate knowledge of omens, predictions, astrology, and prophetic dreams is based on this principle; because no matter the origin of these superstitions, a single coincidence that supports them makes them seem validated. This is the common illusion that affects everyone who has desires or biases; in other words, all of us at some point; during these times, we are inclined to believe without proof. The fallacy lies in making quick judgments without trying, through logic or common sense, to eliminate the irrelevant preceding events, which may include the most impressive and misleading ones.
(5) To regard the Co-Effects (whether simultaneous or successive) of a common cause as standing in the direct relation of cause and effect. Probably no one supposes that the falling of the mercury in his thermometer causes the neighbouring lake to freeze. True, it is the antecedent, and (within a narrow range of experience) may be the invariable antecedent of the formation of ice; but, besides that the two events are so unequal, every one is aware that there is another antecedent, the fall of temperature, which causes both. To justify inductively our belief in causation, the instances compared must agree, or differ, in one circumstance only (besides the effect). The flowing tide is an antecedent of the ebbing tide; it is [Pg 391]invariably so, and is equal to it; but it is not the cause of it: other circumstances are present; and the moon is the chief condition of both flow and ebb. In several instances, States that have grown outrageously luxurious have declined in power: that luxury caused their downfall may seem obvious, and capable of furnishing a moral lesson to the young. Hence other important circumstances are overlooked, such as the institution of slavery, the corruption and rapacity of officials and tax-gatherers, an army too powerful for discipline; any or all of which may be present, and sufficient to explain both the luxury and the ruin.
(5) To see the co-effects (whether happening at the same time or one after the other) of a common cause as directly related in a cause-and-effect relationship. Probably no one thinks that the drop in mercury in their thermometer causes the nearby lake to freeze. Sure, it comes first, and (within a limited range of experience) may consistently come before ice forms; but, apart from the fact that the two events are so different, everyone knows there’s another factor—the drop in temperature—that causes both. To justify our belief in causation inductively, the cases being compared must only differ or agree in one aspect (besides the effect). The rising tide is a precursor to the falling tide; it always happens that way, and they are equal; but it is not the cause of it: there are other factors involved; and the moon is the main reason for both the rise and fall. In several cases, states that have become excessively luxurious have lost their power: the idea that that luxury led to their downfall might seem clear and could provide a moral lesson for the young. However, other significant factors are ignored, such as the institution of slavery, the corruption and greed of officials and tax collectors, or an army too powerful to control; any of these could be present and sufficient to explain both the luxury and the downfall.
(6) To mistake one condition of a phenomenon for the whole cause. To speak of an indispensable condition of any phenomenon as the cause of it, may be a mere conventional abbreviation; and in this way such a mode of expression is common not only in popular but also in scientific discussion. Thus we say that a temperature of 33° F. is a cause of the melting of ice; although that ice melts at 33° F., must further depend upon something in the nature of water; for every solid has its own melting-point. As long, then, as we remember that 'cause,' used in this sense, is only a convenient abbreviation, no harm is done; but, if we forget it, fallacy may result: as when a man says that the cause of a financial crisis was the raising of the rate of discount, neglecting the other conditions of the market; whereas, in some circumstances, a rise of the Bank-rate may increase public confidence and prevent a crisis.
(6) Confusing one aspect of a phenomenon with its entire cause. Referring to an essential condition of any phenomenon as its cause can just be a standard shorthand; this way of speaking is common in both everyday and scientific conversations. For example, we say that a temperature of 33° F. causes ice to melt; however, while ice does melt at 33° F., that melting also depends on something inherent to water, since every solid has its own melting point. As long as we keep in mind that 'cause,' used this way, is merely a convenient shorthand, there’s no issue. But if we overlook this, it can lead to mistakes: like when someone claims that the cause of a financial crisis was an increase in the discount rate, ignoring other factors in the market; in some situations, a rise in the Bank rate might actually boost public confidence and avert a crisis.
We have seen that the direct use of the Canons of Agreement and Difference may only enable us to say that a certain antecedent is a cause or an indispensable condition of the phenomenon under investigation. If, therefore, it is important to find the whole cause, we must either experiment directly upon the other conditions, or resort to the Method of Residues and deductive reason[Pg 392]ing; nor must we be content, without showing (where such precision is possible) that the alleged cause and the given phenomenon are equal.
We have seen that directly using the Canons of Agreement and Difference can only tell us that a specific antecedent is a cause or an essential condition for the phenomenon we are examining. Therefore, if it’s crucial to identify the complete cause, we either need to conduct experiments directly on the other conditions or use the Method of Residues and deductive reasoning. Additionally, we shouldn't be satisfied without demonstrating (where possible) that the supposed cause and the observed phenomenon are equal.[Pg 392]
(7) To mistake a single consequence of a given cause for the whole effect, is a corresponding error; and none so common. Nearly all the mistakes of private conduct and of legislation are due to it: To cure temporary lassitude by a stimulant, and so derange the liver; to establish a new industry by protective duties, and thereby impoverish the rest of the country; to gag the press, and so drive the discontented into conspiracy; to build an alms-house, and thereby attract paupers into the parish, raise the rates, and discourage industry.
(7) Mistaking one outcome of a specific cause for the entire effect is a common error. Most mistakes in personal behavior and policy come from this. For example, trying to fix temporary fatigue with a stimulant can upset the liver; imposing protective tariffs to support a new industry can harm other parts of the economy; censoring the press can push dissatisfied people into rebellion; and creating a homeless shelter can draw in more needy individuals to the area, increase costs, and discourage productivity.
(8) To demand greater exactness in the estimate of causes or effects than a given subject admits of. In the more complex sciences, Biology, Psychology, Sociology, it is often impossible to be confident that all the conditions of a given phenomenon have been assigned, or that all its consequences have been traced. The causes of the origin of species and of the great French Revolution have been carefully investigated, and still we may doubt whether they have all been discovered, or whether their comparative importance has been rightly determined; but it would be very unreasonable to treat those things as miraculous and unintelligible. We read in the Ethics, that a properly cultivated mind knows what degree of precision is to be expected in each science. The greatest possible precision is always to be sought; but what is possible depends partly on the nature of the study and partly upon the state of scientific preparation.
(8) To ask for more accuracy in estimating causes or effects than a particular subject allows. In the more complex fields like Biology, Psychology, and Sociology, it’s often impossible to be sure that we’ve accounted for all the conditions of a given phenomenon or traced all its consequences. The causes behind the origin of species and the French Revolution have been thoroughly examined, yet we might still question whether we’ve uncovered everything or accurately assessed their relative importance. However, it would be unreasonable to view these matters as miraculous or incomprehensible. We read in the Ethics that a well-developed mind understands what level of precision can be expected in each science. The highest level of precision should always be pursued; however, what’s achievable depends partly on the nature of the study and partly on the current state of scientific knowledge.
(9) To treat an agent or condition remote in time as an unconditional cause: for every moment of time gives an opportunity for new combinations of forces and, therefore, for modifications of the effect. Thus, although we often say that Napoleon's Russian expedition was the cause of his downfall, yet the effect was subject to numerous [Pg 393]further conditions. Had the natives not burnt Moscow, had the winter been exceptionally mild, had the Prussians and Austrians not risen against him, the event might have been very different. It is rash to trace the liberties of modern Europe to the battle of Marathon. Indeed, our powers of perception are so unequal to the subtlety of nature, that even in experimental science there is time for molecular changes to occur between what we treat as a cause and the effect as we perceive it; and, in such cases, the strictly unconditional cause has not been discovered.
(9) Treating an agent or condition that happened long ago as a straightforward cause is misleading: every moment gives us a chance for new combinations of forces, and, as a result, changes in the effect. So while we often claim that Napoleon's Russian campaign led to his downfall, that outcome was influenced by many other factors. If the locals hadn’t burned Moscow, if the winter had been unusually mild, or if the Prussians and Austrians hadn’t revolted against him, the result could have been completely different. It’s reckless to link the freedoms of modern Europe directly to the battle of Marathon. In fact, our understanding is so limited compared to nature's complexity that even in experimental science, there's time for molecular changes to happen between what we see as a cause and the effect we recognize; and in these instances, a truly unconditional cause hasn’t been found.
(10) To neglect the negative conditions to which a cause is subject. When we say that water boils at 212° F., we mean "provided the pressure be the same as that of the atmosphere at about the sea-level"; for under a greater pressure water will not boil at that temperature, whilst under less pressure it boils at a lower temperature. In the usual statement of a law of causation, 'disturbing,' 'frustrating,' 'counteracting' circumstances (that is, negative conditions) are supposed to be absent; so that the strict statement of such a law, whether for a remote cause, or for an immediate cause (when only positive conditions are included), is that the agent or assemblage of conditions, tends to produce such an effect, other conditions being favourable, or in the absence of contrary forces.
(10) To ignore the negative conditions affecting a cause. When we say that water boils at 212° F., we mean "as long as the pressure is the same as atmospheric pressure at sea level"; because under higher pressure, water won’t boil at that temperature, and under lower pressure, it boils at a lower temperature. In the typical expression of a causal law, it's assumed that 'disturbing,' 'frustrating,' or 'counteracting' circumstances (i.e., negative conditions) are not present; so the precise statement of such a law, whether for a distant cause or for an immediate cause (when only positive conditions are considered), is that the agent or collection of conditions tends to produce that effect, assuming other conditions are favorable or in the absence of opposing forces.
(11) It is needless to repeat what has already been said of other fallacies that beset inductive proof; such as the neglect of a possible plurality of causes where the effect has been vaguely conceived; the extension of empirical laws beyond adjacent cases; the chief errors to which the estimate of analogies and probabilities, or the application of the principles of classification are liable; and the reliance upon direct Induction where the aid of Deduction may be obtained, or upon observation where experiment may be employed. As to formal fallacies that may be avoided by adhering to the rules of logical method, this may suffice.
(11) There's no need to repeat what’s already been said about other fallacies that come with inductive proof, like ignoring the possibility of multiple causes when the effect is vaguely understood; extending empirical laws beyond similar cases; the main errors that arise from estimating analogies and probabilities, or from applying classification principles; and depending on direct induction when deduction could help, or relying on observation instead of using experimentation. As for formal fallacies that can be avoided by following the rules of logical method, this should be enough.
§ 4. There remain many ways in which arguments fall short of a tolerable standard of proof, though they cannot be exhibited as definite breaches of logical principles. Logicians, therefore, might be excused from discussing them; but out of the abundance of their pity for human infirmity they usually describe and label the chief classes of these 'extra-logical fallacies,' and exhibit a few examples.
§ 4. There are still many ways that arguments fail to meet an acceptable standard of proof, even if they can't be clearly shown as violations of logical principles. Logicians could be justified in not addressing these issues; however, out of their concern for human weaknesses, they often outline and categorize the main types of these 'extra-logical fallacies' and provide some examples.
We may adopt Whately's remark, that a fallacy lies either (1) in the premises, or (2) in the conclusion, or (3) in the attempt to connect a conclusion with the premises.
We can agree with Whately's comment that a fallacy can be (1) in the premises, (2) in the conclusion, or (3) in the effort to link the conclusion to the premises.
(1) Now the premises of a sound argument must either be valid deductions, or valid inductions, or particular observations, or axioms. In an unsound argument, then, whose premises are supported by either deduction or induction, the evidence may be reduced to logical rules; and its failure is therefore a 'logical fallacy' such as we have already discussed. It follows that an extra-logical fallacy of the premises must lie in what cannot be reduced to rules of evidence, that is, in bad observations (§ 5), or sham axioms (§ 6).
(1) Now, the basis of a solid argument must include either valid deductions, valid inductions, specific observations, or axioms. In an unsound argument, where the premises are backed by either deduction or induction, the evidence can be simplified to logical rules; its failure is termed a 'logical fallacy,' as we’ve already discussed. This means that an extra-logical fallacy in the premises must relate to what cannot be simplified into evidence rules, which refers to poor observations (§ 5), or false axioms (§ 6).
(2) As to the conclusion, this can only be fallacious if some other conclusion has been substituted for that which was to have been proved (§ 7).
(2) The conclusion can only be misleading if another conclusion has been replaced with the one that was supposed to be proven (§ 7).
(3) Fallacies in the connection between premises and conclusion, if all the propositions are distinctly and explicitly stated, become manifest upon applying the rules of Logic. Fallacies, therefore, which are not thus manifest, and so are extra-logical, must depend upon some sort of slurring, confusion, or ambiguity of thought or speech (§ 8).
(3) Fallacies in the link between premises and conclusion, when all the statements are clearly and explicitly outlined, become obvious when you apply the rules of Logic. Therefore, fallacies that are not obvious and are thus outside of logic must rely on some form of slurring, confusion, or ambiguity in thought or expression (§ 8).
§ 5. Amongst Fallacies of Observation, Mill distinguishes (1) those of Non-observation, where either instances of the presence or absence of the phenomenon under investigation, or else some of the circumstances constituting it or attending upon it, though important to the induction, are [Pg 395]overlooked. These errors are implied in the Formal Fallacies of Induction already treated of in § 3 (paragraphs (3) to (7)).
§ 5. In discussing the fallacies of observation, Mill identifies (1) those of Non-observation, which occur when important instances of either the presence or absence of the phenomenon being studied, or other relevant circumstances connected to it, are missed, even though they are crucial for making a sound induction. These errors are part of the Formal Fallacies of Induction that have already been addressed in § 3 (paragraphs (3) to (7)).
Mill's class (2) comprises fallacies of Malobservation. Malobservation may be due to obtuseness or slowness of perception; and it is one advantage of the physical sciences as means of education, that the training involved in studying them tends to cure these defects—at least, within their own range.
Mill's class (2) includes fallacies of Malobservation. Malobservation can result from dullness or a slow ability to perceive; one benefit of studying the physical sciences as a means of education is that the training gained from them helps address these shortcomings—at least, within their own scope.
But the occasion of error upon which Mill most insists, is our proneness to substitute a hasty inference for a just representation of the fact before us; as when a yachtsman, eager for marvels, sees a line of porpoises and takes them for the sea-serpent. Every one knows what it is to mistake a stranger for a friend, a leaf for a sparrow, one word for another. The wonder is that we are not oftener wrong; considering how small a part present sensation has in perception, and how much of every object observed is supplied by a sort of automatic judgment. You see something brown, which your perceptive mechanism classes with the appearance of a cow at such a distance; and instantly all the other properties of a cow are supplied from the resources of former experience: but on getting nearer, it turns out to be a log of wood. It is some protection against such errors to know that we are subject to them; and the Logician fulfils his duty in warning us accordingly. But the matter belongs essentially to Psychology; and whoever wishes to pursue it will find a thorough explanation in Prof. Sully's volume on Illusions.
But the error that Mill emphasizes the most is our tendency to jump to quick conclusions instead of accurately representing the facts in front of us; like when a yachtsman, excited by wonders, sees a group of porpoises and mistakes them for a sea serpent. Everyone has experienced mistaking a stranger for a friend, a leaf for a sparrow, or one word for another. It’s surprising that we aren’t wrong more often, given how little of our perception relies on immediate sensations and how much is filled in by automatic judgment. You see something brown, which your perception links to the image of a cow at a distance; and right away, all the other characteristics of a cow are filled in from your past experiences. But as you get closer, you realize it’s just a log of wood. Knowing that we can make these mistakes offers some protection against them, and the logician does his job by warning us about it. However, this topic is fundamentally tied to psychology, and anyone interested in exploring it will find a detailed explanation in Prof. Sully's book on Illusions.
Another error is the accumulation of useless, irrelevant observations, from which no proof of the point at issue can be derived. It has been said that an important part of an inductive inquirer's equipment consists in knowing what to observe. The study of any science educates this faculty by showing us what observations have been effective in similar cases; but something depends upon [Pg 396]genius. Observation is generally guided by hypotheses: he makes the right observations who can frame the right hypotheses; whilst another overlooks things, or sees them all awry, because he is confused and perverted by wishes, prejudices or other false preconceptions; and still another gropes about blindly, noting this and docketing that to no purpose, because he has no hypothesis, or one so vague and ill-conceived that it sheds no light upon his path.
Another mistake is gathering useless, irrelevant observations that don't help prove the main point. It’s been said that a key part of an inductive researcher’s toolkit is knowing what to observe. Studying any science develops this ability by showing what observations have been effective in similar situations; however, some of it relies on [Pg 396]genius. Observation is often guided by hypotheses: the person who makes the right observations is the one who can formulate the right hypotheses; while someone else might overlook important details or misinterpret what they see due to confusion and being swayed by desires, biases, or other false notions; and yet another person might flounder around blindly, recording this or that to no effect, simply because they have no hypothesis, or one that is so vague and poorly thought out that it offers no clarity.
§ 6. The second kind of extra-logical Fallacy lying in the premises, consists in offering as evidence some assertion entirely baseless or nugatory, but expressed in such a way as to seem like a general truth capable of subsuming the proposition in dispute: it is generally known as petitio principii, or begging the question. The question may be begged in three ways:
§ 6. The second type of extra-logical fallacy found in the premises involves presenting an assertion that is completely unfounded or meaningless, but phrased in a way that makes it appear to be a general truth that could support the proposition in question: this is commonly referred to as petitio principii, or begging the question. The question can be begged in three ways:
(1) There are what Mill calls Fallacies a priori, mere assertions, pretending to be self-evident, and often sincerely accepted as such by the author and some infatuated disciples, but in which the cool spectator sees either no sense at all, or palpable falsity. These sham axioms are numerous; and probably every one is familiar with the following examples: That circular motion is the most perfect; That every body strives toward its natural place; That like cures like; That every bane has its antidote; That what is true of our conceptions is true of Nature; That pleasure is nothing but relief from pain; That the good, the beautiful and the true are the same thing; That, in trade, whatever is somewhere gained is somewhere lost; That only in agriculture does nature assist man; That a man may do what he will with his own; That some men are naturally born to rule and others to obey. Some of these doctrines are specious enough; whilst, as to others, how they could ever have been entertained arouses a wonder that can only be allayed by a lengthy historical and psychological disquisition.
(1) There are what Mill calls Fallacies a priori, mere claims, pretending to be obvious, and often genuinely accepted as such by the author and some misguided followers, but in which a rational observer sees either no sense at all or clear falsehood. These fake principles are plentiful; and probably everyone is familiar with the following examples: That circular motion is the most perfect; That every object strives toward its natural place; That like cures like; That every poison has its antidote; That what is true of our ideas is true of nature; That pleasure is just relief from pain; That the good, the beautiful, and the true are the same thing; That in business, whatever is gained somewhere is lost somewhere else; That only in agriculture does nature help humanity; That a person can do whatever they want with their own property; That some people are naturally meant to lead and others to follow. Some of these beliefs are convincing enough; while regarding others, how they could have ever been accepted raises a curiosity that can only be satisfied by an extensive historical and psychological discussion.
(2) Verbal propositions offered as proof of some matter [Pg 397]of fact. These have, indeed, one attribute of axioms; they are self-evident to any one who knows the language; but as they only dissect the meaning of words, nothing but the meaning of words can be inferred from them. If anything further is arrived at, it must be by the help of real propositions. How common is such an argument as this: 'Lying is wrong, because it is vicious'—the implied major premise being that 'what is vicious is wrong.' All three propositions are verbal, and we merely learn from them that lying is called vicious and wrong; and to make that knowledge deterrent, it must be supplemented by a further premise, that 'whatever is called wrong ought to be avoided.' This is a real proposition; but it is much more difficult to prove it than 'that lying ought to be avoided.' Still, such arguments, though bad Logic, often have a rhetorical force: to call lying not only wrong but vicious, may be dissuasive by accumulating associations of shame and ignominy.
(2) Verbal statements presented as evidence for some factual matter [Pg 397]. They do have one quality of axioms; they are obvious to anyone who understands the language; but since they only analyze the meaning of words, we can only conclude the meanings of those words from them. If we want to arrive at anything beyond that, we need real propositions to help us. A common argument is: 'Lying is wrong because it is vicious'—with the implied major premise being that 'what is vicious is wrong.' All three statements are verbal, and we only learn from them that lying is called vicious and wrong; to make that knowledge impactful, it needs to be backed by a further premise that 'whatever is called wrong should be avoided.' This is a real proposition; however, proving it is much more challenging than proving 'that lying should be avoided.' Still, such arguments, despite being poor Logic, often hold rhetorical power: labeling lying as not only wrong but also vicious may deter someone by building up feelings of shame and disgrace.
Definitions, being the most important of verbal propositions (since they imply the possibility of as many other verbal propositions as there are defining attributes and combinations of them), need to be watched with especial care. If two disputants define the same word in different ways, with each of the different attributes included in their several definitions they may bring in a fresh set of real propositions as to the agency or normal connection of that attribute. Hence their conclusions about the things denoted by the word defined, diverge in all directions and to any extent. And it is generally felt that a man who is allowed to define his terms as he pleases, may prove anything to those who, through ignorance or inadvertence, grant that the things that those terms stand for have the attributes that figure in his definitions.
Definitions are the most crucial type of verbal statements (since they open the door to countless other statements based on the different qualities and combinations involved), so they need to be handled very carefully. If two people in a debate define the same word in different ways, including various qualities in their definitions, they can introduce a new set of real statements regarding the role or typical link of that quality. As a result, their conclusions about what the defined word refers to can go off in all sorts of directions and to any degree. It’s generally agreed that if someone can define their terms however they want, they can justify anything to those who, due to ignorance or oversight, accept that the things those terms refer to have the qualities included in their definitions.
(3) Circulus in demonstrando, the pretence of giving a reason for an assertion, whilst in fact only repeating the assertion itself—generally in other words. In such cases [Pg 398]the original proposition is, perhaps, really regarded as self-evident, but by force of habit a man says 'because'; and then, after vainly fumbling in his empty pocket for the coin of reason, the habit of symbolic thinking in words only, without reference to the facts, comes to his rescue, and he ends with a paraphrase of the same assertion. Thus a man may try to prove the necessity of Causation: 'Every event must have a cause; because an event is a change of phenomena, and this implies a transformation of something pre-existing; which can only have been possible, if there were forces in operation capable of transforming it.' Or, again: 'We ought not to go to war, because it is wrong to shed blood.' But, plainly, if war did not imply bloodshed, the unlawfulness of this could be nothing against war. The more serious any matter is, the more important it becomes either to reason thoroughly about it, or to content ourselves with wholesome assertions. How many 'arguments' are superfluous!
(3) Circulus in demonstrando is when someone pretends to give a reason for a statement but is really just repeating the statement in a different way. In these situations, [Pg 398]the original claim might seem self-evident, but out of habit, a person says 'because'; and then, after fruitlessly searching for solid reasoning, the habit of thinking in symbolic words—without connecting to the facts—takes over, leading to a rephrased version of the same statement. For instance, someone might argue for the necessity of causation: 'Every event must have a cause, because an event is a change of phenomena, which implies a transformation of something that already existed; this is only possible if there were forces at play that could bring about that transformation.' Or, another example: 'We shouldn’t go to war because it’s wrong to spill blood.' Clearly, if war didn’t involve bloodshed, the immorality of bloodshed wouldn’t be an argument against war. The more serious an issue is, the more crucial it becomes to think it through thoroughly or to stick with sound assertions. How many 'arguments' are unnecessary!
§ 7. The Fallacy of surreptitious conclusion (ignoratio elenchi), the mistaking or obscuring of the proposition really at issue, whilst proving something else instead. This may be done by substituting a particular proposition for an universal, or an universal for a particular. Thus, he who attacks the practice of giving in charity must not be content to show that it has, in this or that case, degraded the recipient; who may have been exceptionally weak. Or, again, to dissuade another from giving alms in a particular case, it is not enough to show that the general tendency of almsgiving is injurious; for, by taking pains in a particular case, the general tendency may often be counteracted.
§ 7. The Fallacy of surreptitious conclusion (ignoratio elenchi), which happens when the real issue at hand is confused or obscured while proving something else. This can occur by replacing a universal statement with a specific one, or a specific one with a universal. For example, someone critiquing the act of giving to charity can't just point out that it has, in certain instances, harmed the recipient who might have been unusually vulnerable. Similarly, to convince someone against giving alms in a specific situation, it's not enough to claim that, in general, giving alms is harmful; because in a specific case, the overall negative impact can often be mitigated.
Sometimes an argument establishing a wholly irrelevant conclusion is substituted for an argumentum ad rem. Macaulay complains of those apologists for Charles I. who try to defend him as a king, by urging that he was a good judge of paintings and indulgent to his wife.
Sometimes an argument that leads to a completely unrelated conclusion is used instead of a argumentum ad rem. Macaulay criticizes those defenders of Charles I who try to justify him as a king by claiming that he had a good eye for art and was lenient with his wife.
To this class of Fallacies belongs the argumentum ad hominem, which consists in showing not that a certain proposition is true, but that Critias ought to accept it in consistency with his other opinions. Thus: 'In every parish the cost of education ought to be paid out of the rates: you, at least, have said that there can be no sound economy, unless local expenses are defrayed from local funds.' But whether this is a fallacy depends, as Whately observes, upon whether it is urged as actually proving the point at issue, or merely as convicting the opponent of inconsistency. In the latter case, the argument is quite fair: whatever such a conclusion may be worth.
To this category of fallacies belongs the argumentum ad hominem, which shows not that a specific claim is true, but that Critias should accept it to remain consistent with his other beliefs. For example: 'In every community, the cost of education should be covered by local taxes: you have stated that there can be no effective economy unless local expenses are paid for by local funds.' However, whether this is a fallacy depends, as Whately points out, on whether it is presented as actually proving the point at hand or merely as demonstrating the opponent's inconsistency. In the latter case, the argument is completely valid, regardless of the value of such a conclusion.
Similarly with the argumentum ad populum: 'this measure is favourable to such or such a class; let them vote for it.' An appeal to private greed, however base, is not fallacious, as long as the interest of the class is not fraudulently substituted for the good of the nation. And much the same may be said for the argumentum ad verecundiam. When a question of morals is debated as a question of honour among thieves, there is no fallacy, if the moral issue is frankly repudiated. The argument from authority is often brought under this head: 'such is the opinion of Aristotle.' Although this does not establish the truth of any proposition, it may be fairly urged as a reason for not hastily adopting a contrary conclusion: that is, if the subject under discussion be one as to which Aristotle (or whoever the authority may be) had materials for forming a judgment.
Similarly with the argumentum ad populum: 'this measure benefits a particular class; let them vote for it.' An appeal to personal greed, no matter how low, isn't fallacious as long as the interests of that class aren't fraudulently presented as the good of the nation. The same can be said for the argumentum ad verecundiam. When a moral issue is debated as a matter of honor among thieves, there’s no fallacy if the moral question is clearly rejected. The argument from authority often falls into this category: 'such is the opinion of Aristotle.' While this doesn't prove the truth of any statement, it can be a valid reason for not quickly reaching a different conclusion, especially if the topic being discussed is one on which Aristotle (or whichever authority is referenced) had enough information to make a judgment.
A negative use of this fallacy is very common. Some general doctrine, such as Positivism, Transcendentalism, Utilitarianism, or Darwinism, is held in common by a group of men; who, however, all judge independently, and therefore are likely to differ in details. An opponent exhibits their differences of opinion, and thereupon pretends to have refuted the theory they agree in supporting. This is an argumentum ad scholam, and pushes too far the [Pg 400]demand for consistency. In fact it recoils upon the sophist; for there is no sense in quoting men against one another, unless both (or all) are acknowledged to speak with the authority of learning and judgment, and therefore the general doctrine which they hold in common is the more confirmed.
A negative use of this fallacy is quite common. A group of people may share a general belief, like Positivism, Transcendentalism, Utilitarianism, or Darwinism; however, they all judge independently and are likely to disagree on specifics. An opponent highlights these differences in opinion and then claims to have disproven the theory they all support. This is an argumentum ad scholam, and it goes too far in demanding consistency. In fact, it backfires on the sophist; there’s no point in quoting individuals against each other unless it’s acknowledged that they all speak with authority and knowledge, which actually reinforces the general belief they share.
This is an example of the paralogism of 'proving too much'; when a disputant is so eager to refute an opponent as to lay down, or imply, principles from which an easy inference destroys his own position. To appeal to a principle of greater sweep than the occasion requires may easily open the way to this pitfall: as if a man should urge that 'all men are liars,' as the premise of an argument designed to show that another's assertion is less credible than his own.
This is an example of the fallacy of 'proving too much'; when someone is so eager to argue against an opponent that they assert, or imply, principles that easily undermine their own position. Referencing a principle that is broader than necessary can easily lead to this mistake: like a person claiming that 'all people are liars' as the basis for an argument trying to show that another person's statement isn't as reliable as their own.
A common form of ignoratio elenchi is that which Whately called the 'fallacy of objections': namely, to lay stress upon all the considerations against any doctrine or proposal, without any attempt to weigh them against the considerations in its favour; amongst which should be reckoned all the considerations that tell against the alternative doctrines or proposals. Incontestable demonstration can rarely be expected even in science, outside of the Mathematics; and in practical affairs, as Butler says, 'probability is the very guide of life'; so that every conclusion depends upon the balance of evidence, and to allow weight to only a part of it is an evasion of the right issue.
A common form of ignoratio elenchi is what Whately referred to as the 'fallacy of objections': that is, focusing only on the arguments against any belief or proposal without trying to compare them to the arguments in its favor; this should also include all the arguments against alternative beliefs or proposals. Unquestionable proof is rarely expected, even in science, except in Mathematics; and in real-life situations, as Butler says, 'probability is the very guide of life'; so every conclusion relies on weighing the evidence, and giving importance to only part of it avoids addressing the real issue.
§ 8. Fallacies in the connection of premises and conclusion, that cannot be detected by reducing the arguments to syllogistic form, must depend upon some juggling with language to disguise their incoherence. They may be generally described as Fallacies of Ambiguity, whether they turn upon the use of the same word in different senses, or upon ellipsis. Thus it may be argued that all works written in a classical language are classical, and [Pg 401]that, therefore, the history of Philosophy by Diogenes Lærtius, being written in Greek, is a classic. Such ambiguities are sometimes serious enough; sometimes are little better than jokes. For jokes, as Whately observes, are often fallacies; and considered as a propædeutic to the art of sophistry, punning deserves the ignominy that has overtaken it.
§ 8. Fallacies in the connection between premises and conclusion, which can’t be identified by breaking down the arguments into syllogistic form, often rely on playing with language to hide their lack of coherence. They can generally be categorized as Fallacies of Ambiguity, whether they arise from using the same word in different ways or from omissions. For example, one might argue that all works written in a classical language are classic, and [Pg 401] therefore, Diogenes Laertius’s history of Philosophy, being written in Greek, is a classic. Some of these ambiguities can be significant; others are little more than jokes. As Whately points out, jokes are often fallacies, and punning, considered a preliminary step to the art of sophistry, deserves the negative reputation it has gained.
Fallacies of ellipsis usually go by learned names, as; (1) a dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter. It has been argued that since, according to Ricardo, the value of goods depends solely upon the quantity of labour necessary to produce them, the labourers who are employed upon (say) cotton cloth ought to receive as wages the whole price derived from its sale, leaving nothing for interest upon capital. Ricardo, however, explained that by 'the quantity of labour necessary to produce goods' he meant not only what is immediately applied to them, but also the labour bestowed upon the implements and buildings with which the immediate labour is assisted. Now these buildings and implements are capital, the labour which produced them was paid for, and it was far enough from Ricardo's mind to suppose that the capital which assists present labour upon (say) cotton cloth has no claim to remuneration out of the price of it. In this argument, then, the word labour in the premise is used secundum quid, that is, with the suppressed qualification of including past as well as present labour; but in the conclusion labour is used simpliciter to mean present labour only.
Fallacies of ellipsis usually have formal names, such as (1) a dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter. It has been argued that, according to Ricardo, the value of goods depends only on the amount of labor needed to produce them, so the workers involved in (for example) cotton cloth should receive all the earnings from its sale, leaving nothing for interest on capital. However, Ricardo clarified that by 'the quantity of labor necessary to produce goods' he meant not just the labor directly applied to them, but also the labor put into the tools and buildings that assist this immediate labor. These buildings and tools are capital, the labor that created them was compensated, and it was far from Ricardo's belief that the capital supporting current labor on (for example) cotton cloth has no claim to payment from its sale price. In this argument, the term labor in the premise is used secundum quid, meaning it includes both past and present labor; but in the conclusion, labor is used simpliciter to refer only to present labor.
(2) A dicto secundum quid ad dictum secundum alterum quid. It may be urged that, since the tax on tea is uniform, therefore all consumers contribute equally to the revenue for their enjoyment of it. But written out fairly this argument runs thus: Since tea is taxed uniformly 4d. per lb., all consumers pay equally for their enjoyment of it whatever quantity they use. These qualifications introduced, nobody can be deceived.
(2) A dicto secundum quid ad dictum secundum alterum quid. One might argue that because the tax on tea is the same for everyone, all consumers contribute equally to the revenue for their enjoyment of it. But when this argument is laid out clearly, it goes like this: Since tea is taxed uniformly at 4d. per lb., all consumers pay the same amount for their enjoyment of it, regardless of how much they use. With these clarifications, no one can be misled.
(3) A dicto simpliciter ad dictum secundum quid, also called fallacia accidentis. Thus: To take interest upon a loan is perfectly just, therefore, I do right to exact it from my own father in distress. The popular answer to this sort of blunder is that 'circumstances alter cases.' We commit this error in supposing that what is true of the average is likely to be true of each case; as if one should say: 'The offices are ready to insure my house [with thousands of others] against fire at a rate per annum which will leave them heavy losers unless it lasts a hundred years; so, as we are told not to take long views of life, I shall not insure.'
(3) A dicto simpliciter ad dictum secundum quid, also known as fallacia accidentis. So, taking interest on a loan is perfectly fair; therefore, it’s right for me to charge it from my own dad in a tough situation. The common response to this kind of mistake is that 'circumstances change things.' We make this error by assuming that what's true on average is likely true for every individual case; as if someone were to say: 'The insurance companies are ready to cover my house [along with thousands of others] against fire at a yearly rate that will make them significant losers unless it lasts a hundred years; so, since we’re advised not to take a long view of life, I won’t insure it.'
The Fallacy of Division and Composition consists in suggesting, or assuming, that what is true of things severally denoted by a term is true of them taken together. That every man is mortal is generally admitted, but we cannot infer that, therefore, the human race will become extinct. That the remote prospects of the race are tragic may be plausibly argued, but not from that premise.
The Fallacy of Division and Composition involves suggesting or assuming that what is true for individual items represented by a term is also true for those items as a whole. It's widely accepted that every person is mortal, but we can't conclude that the human race will eventually go extinct just because of that. While it's possible to argue that the long-term future of the human race looks grim, it can't be concluded from that statement.
Changing the Premises is a fallacy usually placed in this division; although, instead of disguising different meanings under similar words, it generally consists in using words or phrases ostensibly differing, as if they were equivalent: those addressed being expected to renounce their right to reduce the argument to strict forms of proof, as needless pedantry in dealing with an author so palpably straightforward. If an orator says—'Napoleon conquered Europe; in other words, he murdered five millions of his fellow creatures'—and is allowed to go on, he may infer from the latter of these propositions many things which the former of them would hardly have covered. This is a sort of hyperbole, and there is a corresponding meiosis, as: 'Mill admits that the Syllogism is useful'; when, in fact, that is Mill's contention. It may be supposed that, if a man be fool enough to be imposed upon by such transparent colours, it serves him right; but this harsh [Pg 403]judgment will not be urged by any one who knows and considers the weaker brethren.
Changing the premises is a fallacy often found in this area; instead of disguising different meanings with similar words, it usually involves using words or phrases that seem different as if they are equivalent. Those being addressed are expected to give up their right to demand strict evidence for the argument, viewing it as unnecessary pedantry when talking about an author who is clearly straightforward. If a speaker says, “Napoleon conquered Europe; in other words, he killed five million of his fellow beings,” and is allowed to continue, he might draw many conclusions from the second statement that the first one wouldn’t support. This is a kind of exaggeration, and there’s a related understatement, like: “Mill admits that the Syllogism is useful”; when, in reality, that is Mill's contention. Some may think that if a person is foolish enough to fall for such obvious tricks, they deserve it; but this harsh [Pg 403]judgment won’t be made by anyone who understands and cares for those who are less informed.
§ 9. The above classification of Fallacies is a rearrangement of the plans adopted by Whately and Mill. But Fallacies resemble other spontaneous natural growths in not submitting to precise and definite classification. The same blunders, looked at from different points of view, may seem to belong to different groups. Thus, the example given above to illustrate fallacia accidentis, 'that, since it is just to take interest, it is right to exact it from one's own father,' may also be regarded as petitio principii, if we consider the unconditional statement of the premise—'to take interest upon a loan is perfectly just'; for, surely, this is only conditionally true. Or, again, the first example given of simple ambiguity—'that whatever is written in a classical language is classical, etc.,' may, if we attend merely to the major premise, be treated as a bad generalisation, an undue extension of an inference, founded upon a simple enumeration of the first few Greek and Latin works that one happened to remember.
§ 9. The classification of Fallacies above is a reorganization of the approaches used by Whately and Mill. However, Fallacies, like other natural occurrences, resist precise and clear classification. The same mistakes, when viewed from different angles, may seem to fit into various categories. For example, the illustration provided for fallacia accidentis, 'that, since it is fair to charge interest, it is acceptable to demand it from one's own father,' can also be seen as petitio principii if we consider the unconditional statement of the premise—'charging interest on a loan is entirely just'; this is only conditionally true, of course. Similarly, the first example of simple ambiguity—'that whatever is written in a classical language is classical, etc.,' may, if we focus solely on the major premise, be viewed as a poor generalization, an excessive extension of an inference, based merely on a quick list of the first few Greek and Latin texts someone can recall.
It must also be acknowledged that genuine wild fallacies, roaming the jungle of controversy, are not so easily detected or evaded as specimens seem to be when exhibited in a Logician's collection; where one surveys them without fear, like a child at a menagerie. To assume the succinct mode of statement that is most convenient for refutation, is not the natural habit of these things. But to give reality to his account of fallacies an author needs a large space, that he may quote no inconsiderable part of literature ancient and modern.
It should also be recognized that real wild fallacies, wandering through the jungle of controversy, are not as easy to spot or avoid as they might appear when shown in a logician's collection; where one observes them without fear, like a child at a zoo. Choosing the brief way of stating things that’s easiest for rebuttal isn’t the natural tendency of these ideas. To accurately present his account of fallacies, an author needs ample space to reference a significant portion of both ancient and modern literature.
As to the means of avoiding fallacies, a general increase of sincerity and candour amongst mankind may be freely recommended. With more honesty there would be fewer bad arguments; but there is such a thing as well-meaning incapacity that gets unaffectedly fogged in converting A., and regards the refractoriness of O., as more than flesh [Pg 404]and blood can endure. Mere indulgence in figurative language, again, is a besetting snare. "One of the fathers, in great severity called poesy vinum dæmonum," says Bacon: himself too fanciful for a philosopher. Surely, to use a simile for the discovery of truth is like studying beauty in the bowl of a spoon.
To avoid fallacies, we can definitely suggest a general increase in honesty and openness among people. With more sincerity, there would be fewer weak arguments; however, there’s such a thing as well-intentioned inability that gets confused in converting A., and considers the stubbornness of O., as more than what any human can bear. Simply indulging in figurative language can also be a common trap. "One of the fathers, in great severity, called poetry vinum dæmonum," says Bacon: who himself is too imaginative to be a true philosopher. Surely, using a metaphor to find the truth is like trying to understand beauty by looking at the inside of a spoon. [Pg 404]
The study of the natural sciences trains and confirms the mind in a habit of good reasoning, which is the surest preservative against paralogism, as long as the terms in use are, like those of science, well defined; and where they are ill defined, so that it is necessary to guard against ambiguity, a thorough training in politics or metaphysics may be useful. Logic seems to me to serve, in some measure, both these purposes. The conduct of business, or experience, a sufficient time being granted, is indeed the best teacher, but also the most austere and expensive. In the seventeenth century some of the greatest philosophers wrote de intellectus emendatione; and if their successors have given over this very practical inquiry, the cause of its abandonment is not success and satiety but despair. Perhaps the right mind is not to be made by instruction, but can only be bred: a slow, haphazard process; and meanwhile the rogue of a sophist may count on a steady supply of dupes to amuse the tedium of many an age.
The study of natural sciences sharpens and confirms the mind in a habit of clear reasoning, which is the best safeguard against faulty logic, as long as the terms used are, like those in science, clearly defined. When terms are unclear and ambiguity needs to be avoided, strong training in politics or metaphysics can be helpful. Logic appears to serve both of these functions to some extent. Practical experience, given enough time, is indeed the best teacher, but it is also the most severe and costly. In the seventeenth century, some of the greatest philosophers wrote de intellectus emendatione; and if their successors have moved away from this very practical inquiry, it’s not because of success and satisfaction, but rather despair. Perhaps the right mindset cannot be formed through instruction alone, but must be nurtured: a slow, random process; and in the meantime, a cunning sophist can always count on a steady stream of fools to entertain for many ages.
FINIS.
THE END.
QUESTIONS
The following questions are chiefly taken from public examination papers: Civil Service [S], Oxford [O], Cambridge [C], London [L].
The following questions are primarily drawn from public exam papers: Civil Service [S], Oxford [O], Cambridge [C], London [L].
I. TERMS, ETC.
1. What is a Term? Explain and illustrate the chief divisions of Terms. What is meant by the Connotation of a Term? Illustrate. [S]
1. What is a Term? Explain and show the main categories of Terms. What does the Connotation of a Term mean? Provide an example. [S]
2. "The connotation and denotation of terms vary inversely." Examine this assertion, explaining carefully the limits within which it is true, if at all. [S]
2. "The meanings of words can vary in opposite ways." Analyze this statement, clearly detailing the circumstances under which it holds true, if it does at all. [S]
3. Exemplify the false reasoning arising from the confusion of Contrary and Contradictory Terms. [S]
3. Show the flawed reasoning that comes from mixing up Contrary and Contradictory Terms. [S]
4. Discuss the claims of the doctrine of Terms to be included in a Logical System. Distinguish between a General and an Abstract Term. [S]
4. Talk about the claims of the doctrine of Terms that should be included in a Logical System. Differentiate between a General and an Abstract Term. [S]
5. Explain and illustrate what is meant by the Denotation and Connotation of a Term. What terms have both, and what have one only? [S]
5. Explain and illustrate what is meant by the Denotation and Connotation of a Term. Which terms have both, and which have just one? [S]
6. Distinguish between Abstract and Concrete Names. To which of these classes belong (a) adjectives, (b) names of states of consciousness? Are any abstract names connotative? [S]
6. Distinguish between Abstract and Concrete Names. Which of these classes do (a) adjectives and (b) names of states of consciousness belong to? Are any abstract names connotative? [S]
7. Distinguish between (a) Proper and Singular Terms, (b) Negative and Privative, (c) Absolute and Relative. Illustrate.
7. Differentiate between (a) Proper and Singular Terms, (b) Negative and Privative, (c) Absolute and Relative. Provide examples.
8. What connection is there between the Connotation and the Relativity of Names?
8. What is the connection between the connotation and the relativity of names?
9. Examine the logical relations between the following pairs of terms: (a) happy and happiness; (b) happy and unhappy; (c) 'the juryman' and 'the jury'; (d) parent and offspring.
9. Examine the logical connections between the following pairs of terms: (a) happy and happiness; (b) happy and unhappy; (c) 'the juryman' and 'the jury'; (d) parent and offspring.
Explain the technical words used in your answer. [C]
Explain the technical terms used in your response. [C]
10. Distinguish between name; part of speech; term: and illustrate by reference to the following—use, useful, usefully. [C]
10. Differentiate between name; part of speech; term: and show examples using the following—use, useful, usefully. [C]
11. Describe the nature of Collective terms; examine in particular any difficulties in distinguishing between these and general or abstract terms. [C]
11. Describe the nature of Collective terms; examine in particular any difficulties in distinguishing between these and general or abstract terms. [C]
12. Distinguish between positive, negative, and privative names. Of what kind are the following, and why—parallel, alien, idle, unhappy? What ambiguity is there in the use of such a term as "not-white"? [C]
12. Distinguish between positive, negative, and privative names. What type are the following, and why—parallel, alien, idle, unhappy? What ambiguity exists in the use of a term like "not-white"? [C]
II. PROPOSITIONS AND IMMEDIATE INFERENCE.
13. What is meant by (1) the Conversion, and (2) the Contra-position of a proposition? Apply these processes, as far as admissible, to the following:—
13. What do (1) the Conversion and (2) the Contra-position of a proposition mean? Apply these processes, as much as possible, to the following:—
(a) All invertebrates have cold blood.
All invertebrates are ectothermic.
(b) Some cold-blooded animals are not invertebrates.
(b) Some cold-blooded animals are not without a backbone.
(c) No wingless birds are songsters.
(c) No birds without wings are songbirds.
(d) Some winged birds are not songsters.
(d) Some birds with wings don’t sing.
What can you infer from (a) and (b) jointly, and what from (c) and (d) jointly? [S]
What can you conclude from (a) and (b) together, and what from (c) and (d) together? [S]
14. "The author actually supposes that, because Professor Fawcett denies that all wealth is money, he denies that all money is wealth." Analyse the differences of opinion implied in the above passage. [S]
14. "The author really thinks that because Professor Fawcett claims not all wealth is money, he also believes that not all money is wealth." Analyze the differences of opinion implied in the above passage. [S]
15. Take any universal affirmative proposition; convert it by obversion (contraposition); attach the negative particle to the predicate, and again convert. Interpret the result exactly, and say whether it is or is not equivalent to the original proposition. [S]
15. Take any universal affirmative statement; change it by obversion (contraposition); add the negative word to the predicate, and then convert it again. Understand the result precisely, and determine if it is equivalent to the original statement or not. [S]
16. What information about the term "solid body" can we derive from the proposition, "No bodies which are not solids are crystals"? [S]
16. What can we learn about the term "solid body" from the statement, "No bodies that aren't solids are crystals"? [S]
17. Discuss the proposal to treat all propositions as affirmative.
17. Talk about the idea of treating all statements as positive.
18. Convert the proposition "A is probably B." What information does the proposition give us concerning B? [S]
18. Change the statement "A is probably B." What does this statement tell us about B? [S]
19. Show in how many ways you can deny the following assertions: All cathedral towns are all cities; Canterbury is the Metropolitan see. [S]
19. Show in how many ways you can deny these statements: All cathedral towns are cities; Canterbury is the Metropolitan see. [S]
20. Explain the nature of a hypothetical (or conditional) proposition. What do you consider the radical difference between it and a categorical? [S]
20. Explain the nature of a hypothetical (or conditional) proposition. What do you think is the major difference between it and a categorical? [S]
21. What is the function of the copula? In what different manners has it been treated? [S]
21. What is the purpose of the copula? How has it been approached in different ways? [S]
22. Convert "A killed C unjustly"; "All Knowledge is probably useful"; "The exception proves the rule"; "Birds of a feather flock together." [S]
22. Change "A killed C unjustly"; "All Knowledge is likely useful"; "The exception confirms the rule"; "People with similar interests tend to associate with each other." [S]
23. What is modality? How are modals treated by (a) formal logic and (b) by the theory of induction? [S]
23. What is modality? How are modals handled by (a) formal logic and (b) the theory of induction? [S]
24. What is the subject of an impersonal proposition? Give reasons for your answer. [S]
24. What is the topic of an impersonal statement? Provide reasons for your answer. [S]
25. Is the categorical proposition sufficiently described as referring a thing or things to a class? [S]
25. Is the categorical statement accurately described as relating something or some things to a category? [S]
26. Enumerate the cases in which the truth or falsity of one proposition may be formally inferred from the truth or falsity of another. Illustrate these cases, and give to each its technical name. [S]
26. List the situations where you can formally determine the truth or falsehood of one statement based on the truth or falsehood of another. Provide examples for these situations and assign each a technical name. [S]
27. Illustrate the relation of Immediate Inferences to the Laws of Thought.
27. Show how Immediate Inferences relate to the Laws of Thought.
28. Explain what is meant by (a) Symbolic Logic; (b) the Logic of Relatives. Describe some method of representing propositions by means of diagrams; and indicate how far any particular theory of the import of propositions is involved in such representation. [S]
28. Explain what is meant by (a) Symbolic Logic; (b) the Logic of Relatives. Describe a method of representing propositions using diagrams; and indicate to what extent any specific theory about the meaning of propositions is involved in that representation. [S]
29. Explain the exact nature of the relation between two Contradictory propositions; and define Conversion by Contraposition, determining what kind of propositions admit of such conversion.
29. Explain the precise nature of the relationship between two Contradictory propositions; and define Conversion by Contraposition, identifying what types of propositions can be converted in this way.
Give the contradictory and the contrapositive of each of the following propositions:—
Give the contradictory and the contrapositive of each of the following propositions:—
(a) All equilateral triangles are equiangular;
(a) All equilateral triangles have equal angles;
(b) No vertebrate animal has jaws opening sideways;
(b) No vertebrate animal has jaws that open to the side;
(c) Wherever A and B are both present, either C or D is also present. [S]
(c) Whenever A and B are both there, C or D is also there. [S]
30. Define Obversion and Inversion, and apply these processes also to the above three propositions.
30. Define Obversion and Inversion, and apply these processes to the three propositions mentioned above.
31. Propositions can be understood either in extension or in intension. Explain this, and discuss the relative value of the two interpretations. [S]
31. Propositions can be understood in terms of their extension or their intension. Explain this, and discuss the relative value of the two interpretations. [S]
32. Distinguish between real and verbal propositions; and explain the importance of the distinction.
32. Differentiate between real and verbal propositions, and explain why this distinction matters.
33. Illustrate the process called 'change of Relation.'
33. Show how the process called 'change of Relation' works.
III. SYLLOGISM AND MEDIATE INFERENCE.
34. What is a Syllogism? Find, without reference to the mnemonic verses, in what different ways it is possible to prove syllogistically the conclusion No S is P; and show the equivalence between these different ways. [S]
34. What is a Syllogism? Find, without referring to the mnemonic verses, the various ways it is possible to prove the conclusion No S is P syllogistically; and demonstrate the equivalence between these different methods. [S]
35. From what points of view can the syllogism be regarded
35. From what perspectives can the syllogism be viewed?
(1) as being, (2) as not being, a petitio principii? [S]
(1) as being, (2) as not being, a petitio principii? [S]
36. What are the figures of syllogism? For what kind of arguments are they severally adapted? [S]
36. What are the types of syllogism? What types of arguments are each of them suited for? [S]
37. What is meant by Mood and Figure? How can the validity of a Mood be tested? Should there be four Figures or three? [S]
37. What do Mood and Figure mean? How can we test the validity of a Mood? Should there be four Figures or three? [S]
38. Construct syllogisms in Camenes, Datisi and Baroco, and reduce them to the corresponding moods of the first figure.
38. Create syllogisms in Camenes, Datisi, and Baroco, and simplify them to the corresponding moods of the first figure.
39. Explain the meaning of "ostensive" and "indirect" Reduction. Show that any Mood of the second Figure may be reduced in either way.
39. Explain the meaning of "ostensive" and "indirect" Reduction. Show that any Mood of the second Figure can be reduced in either way.
40. Show that A cannot be proved except in the First Figure. Express the following reasoning in as many syllogistic figures as you can: Some theorists cannot be trusted, for they are unwise. [S]
40. Show that A cannot be proved except in the First Figure. Express the following reasoning in as many syllogistic figures as you can: Some theorists can't be trusted because they are unwise. [S]
41. Discuss the possibility of reducing the argument a fortiori to the syllogistic form. [S]
41. Talk about the possibility of simplifying the argument a fortiori into syllogistic form. [S]
42. Can a false conclusion be reached through true premises, or a true conclusion through false premises? Give reasons for your answer. [S]
42. Is it possible to come to a wrong conclusion based on true premises, or a correct conclusion based on false premises? Explain your reasoning. [S]
43. Can we under any circumstances infer a relation between X and Z from the premises—
43. Can we, in any situation, conclude a relationship between X and Z from the premises—
Some Y's are Z's? [S]
44. Take an apparent syllogism subject to the fallacy of negative premises, and inquire whether you can correct the reasoning by converting one or both of the premises into the affirmative form. [S]
44. Take an obvious syllogism that falls victim to the negative premises fallacy, and check if you can fix the reasoning by changing one or both of the premises to the affirmative form. [S]
45. Enumerate the faults to which a syllogism is liable, giving instances of each. [S]
45. List the mistakes a syllogism can have, providing examples of each. [S]
46. State any Enthymeme, and expand it into (1) a Syllogism, (2) an Epicheirema, (3) a Sorites; and give in each case the technical name of the Mood or Order that results.
46. State any Enthymeme, and expand it into (1) a Syllogism, (2) an Epicheirema, (3) a Sorites; and provide the technical name of the Mood or Order that results in each case.
47. State any Disjunctive Syllogism, and change it (1) into a Hypothetical, (2) into a Categorical; and discuss the loss or gain, in cogency or significance involved in this process.
47. State any Disjunctive Syllogism, and change it (1) into a Hypothetical, (2) into a Categorical; and discuss the loss or gain in cogency or significance involved in this process.
48. Can the Syllogism be treated as merely a consequence of the "Laws of Thought"? If not, why not; and what else does it imply?
48. Can the Syllogism be seen as just a result of the "Laws of Thought"? If not, why not, and what else does it suggest?
49. Prove that with three given propositions (of the forms A., E., I., O.) it is never possible to construct more than one valid syllogism. [C]
49. Show that with three given propositions (of the types A., E., I., O.), it’s never possible to create more than one valid syllogism. [C]
50. Distinguish between a Constructive and a Destructive Hypothetical Syllogism; and show how one may be reduced to the other. [C]
50. Distinguish between a Constructive and a Destructive Hypothetical Syllogism; and show how one can be changed into the other. [C]
IV. INDUCTION, ETC.
51. What constitutes a Valid Induction? Distinguish it from a legitimate hypothesis. [S]
51. What makes an induction valid? How does it differ from a legitimate hypothesis? [S]
52. Is it possible to form true universal propositions about facts if we have not actually observed all the individuals designated by the subject of the proposition? If so, how? [S]
52. Is it possible to make true universal statements about facts if we haven’t actually observed all the individuals referred to by the subject of the statement? If yes, how? [S]
53. "Perfect induction is demonstrative and syllogistic; imperfect induction is neither." Explain the difference between perfect and imperfect induction, and examine the truth of this assertion. [S]
53. "Perfect induction is clear and logical; imperfect induction is not." Explain the difference between perfect and imperfect induction, and look into the validity of this statement. [S]
54. Why is it that one should not regard night as the cause, nor even as a universal condition of day? Explain "cause" and "condition." [S]
54. Why shouldn't we see night as the cause or even as a universal condition of day? Explain "cause" and "condition." [S]
55. What do you understand by an experiment? Can you say how many experiments are required to establish (1) a fact, (2) a law of nature?
55. What do you mean by an experiment? Can you explain how many experiments are needed to prove (1) a fact, (2) a law of nature?
56. How would you define antecedent, cause, effect, consequent? [S]
56. How would you define antecedent, cause, effect, consequent? [S]
57. England is the richest country in the world, and has a gold currency. Russia and India, in proportion to population, are poor countries and have little or no gold currency. How far are such kind of facts logically sufficient to prove that a gold currency is the cause of a nation's wealth? [S]
57. England is the wealthiest country in the world and uses gold as its currency. Russia and India, compared to their populations, are less prosperous and have little or no gold currency. To what extent do these facts logically demonstrate that having a gold currency causes a nation to be wealthy? [S]
58. A man having been shot through the heart immediately falls dead. Investigate the logical value of such a fact as proving that all men shot through the heart will fall dead. [S]
58. A man who gets shot in the heart instantly drops dead. Investigate the logical significance of this fact to prove that all men shot through the heart will die. [S]
59. Explain the process of induction called the Method of Difference, and give some new instances of its application. How is it related to the Method of Concomitant Variations? What is the Major Premise implied in all these methods? [S]
59. Explain the process of induction known as the Method of Difference and provide some new examples of how it's used. How is it connected to the Method of Concomitant Variations? What is the Major Premise that is implied in all these methods? [S]
59A. Examine the position, that the Canons of Experiment are useless, because the work of preparing the experiments must have been done before the canons can be applied.
59A. Look at the argument that the Canons of Experiment are pointless because the preparation for the experiments has to be completed before the canons can be used.
60. Explain the logical cogency of experiments in the search for physical causes. [S]
60. Explain the logical consistency of experiments in the search for physical causes. [S]
61. If the effects of A B C D are fully expressed by a b c d, and those of B C D by b c d, what inductive inference can be drawn and on what principle? State the canon according to which it is drawn. [S]
61. If the effects of A B C D are fully expressed by a b c d, and those of B C D by b c d, what inductive inference can be drawn and on what principle? State the rule according to which it is drawn. [S]
62. Compare the advantage of observation and experiment as means of gaining data for Reasoning. [S]
62. Compare the benefits of observation and experimentation as ways to gather data for reasoning. [S]
63. Compare the cogency of different Inductive Methods, showing the kind of evidence each requires, and the principle on which it is based. [S]
63. Compare the effectiveness of different Inductive Methods, showing the type of evidence each requires and the principle behind it. [S]
64. Compare the Canons of Agreement and Difference (1) as to the difficulty of finding or preparing actual Instances for them, and (2) as to their conclusiveness.
64. Compare the Canons of Agreement and Difference (1) in terms of how difficult it is to find or prepare actual examples for them, and (2) in terms of how conclusive they are.
65. Describe what is meant by residual phenomena, and estimate their value in inductive science. [S]
65. Describe what residual phenomena mean, and assess their value in inductive science. [S]
66. What is the argument from Analogy? How does it differ from (a) Induction, (b) metaphorical argument? [S]
66. What is the argument from analogy? How does it differ from (a) induction, (b) metaphorical argument? [S]
67. What are the various senses in which the word Analogy has been used? Distinguish, giving instances, between good and bad analogies. [S]
67. What are the different ways the word Analogy has been used? Explain, with examples, the difference between good and bad analogies. [S]
68. How do you distinguish between what Mill calls the Geometrical, Physical, and Historical Methods?
68. How do you tell the difference between what Mill refers to as the Geometrical, Physical, and Historical Methods?
68A. The Comparative Method is appealed to where direct evidence is wanting. Explain this.
68A. The Comparative Method is used when there is a lack of direct evidence. Explain this.
69. What is meant by a doctrine being unverifiable? If a conclusion reached by deduction does not agree with the facts, where must we look for error?
69. What does it mean for a doctrine to be unverifiable? If a conclusion drawn from deduction doesn't align with the facts, where should we look for the mistake?
70. There are certain cases in which failure of verification is fatal to a theory, and other cases in which it is of comparatively little cogency. How would you distinguish between these classes of cases? [S]
70. There are some situations where failure to verify is a dealbreaker for a theory, and other situations where it matters much less. How would you differentiate between these types of cases? [S]
71. Taking the "evolution," or any other proposed hypothesis, how should one proceed (a) to show whether it satisfies the conditions of a legitimate hypothesis sufficiently to entitle it to investigation, and (b) to test it with a view to its acceptance or rejection as a truth of science? [S]
71. Considering the "evolution," or any other suggested hypothesis, how should one go about (a) demonstrating whether it meets the criteria of a valid hypothesis enough to warrant investigation, and (b) testing it to determine whether it should be accepted or rejected as a scientific truth? [S]
72. What do you mean by saying that "a phenomenon has been satisfactorily explained"?
72. What do you mean when you say that "a phenomenon has been satisfactorily explained"?
73. Explain and illustrate the Historical Method of Sociological inquiry. [S]
73. Explain and show the Historical Method of sociological research. [S]
74. What is the relation of the theory of Probability to Logic? [S]
74. What is the connection between the theory of Probability and Logic? [S]
75. Explain and discuss the doctrine that Induction is based upon the Theory of Probability. [S]
75. Explain and discuss the idea that Induction is based on the Theory of Probability. [S]
75A. What are the logical grounds of the Law of Error?
75A. What are the logical reasons behind the Law of Error?
76. Explain the nature and use of Classification, the means to, and tests of, its successful performance. [S]
76. Describe what Classification is, how it's used, and the criteria and tests for measuring its success. [S]
77. What is Definition and what is its use? Mention various difficulties that occur in the process, and show how they are to be met. [S]
77. What is a definition and what is its purpose? Discuss various challenges that arise during the process and explain how to tackle them. [S]
78. Propose rules for a good Division and a good Definition, and exemplify the breach of them. [S]
78. Suggest guidelines for a clear Division and a solid Definition, and provide examples of how these rules can be broken. [S]
79. Examine the validity of the idea of Real Kinds. [O]
79. Look into the validity of the concept of Real Kinds. [O]
80. What kind of words are indefinable, and why? When do we define by negation and by example? [S]
80. What types of words are hard to define, and why? When do we define through negation and by giving examples? [S]
81. Distinguish between the province and aims of classification and (logical) division. Illustrate. [S]
81. Distinguish between the purpose and goals of classification and (logical) division. Give examples. [S]
82. What is an infima species or species specialissima? Compare the use of the terms genus and species in Logic with that which is common in speaking of animals or plants. [S]
82. What is an infima species or species specialissima? Compare the use of the terms genus and species in logic with how they are commonly used when talking about animals or plants. [S]
83. How far does the formation of Definitions and Classifications constitute the end of Science? [S]
83. How far does creating Definitions and Classifications mark the end of Science? [S]
84. Examine the methodological relations between Definition, Classification and Nomenclature. [S]
84. Look into the relationships between Definition, Classification, and Nomenclature. [S]
85. Give instances of "Differentia," "Property," "Inseparable Accident"; and examine, with reference to your instances, how far it is possible to distinguish them. [S]
85. Provide examples of "Difference," "Property," and "Inseparable Accident"; and analyze, in relation to your examples, how far it is possible to distinguish between them. [S]
V. MISCELLANEOUS.
86. "People can reason without the help of Logic." Why is this not a sufficient objection to the study? In your answer show distinctly why Logic should be studied. [S]
86. "People can think without the aid of Logic." Why is this not a convincing argument against studying it? In your response, clearly explain why Logic is important to learn. [S]
87. What is the meaning of the assertion that Logic is concerned with the form, and not with the matter, of thought? [S]
87. What does it mean when we say that Logic focuses on the structure, not the content, of thought? [S]
88. "Neither by deductive nor inductive reasoning can we add a tittle to our implicit knowledge." (Jevons.) Explain and criticise. [S]
88. "We can't add anything to our implicit knowledge through either deductive or inductive reasoning." (Jevons.) Explain and critique. [S]
89. What is the logical foundation of the indirect method or reductio ad absurdum? Is it applicable to non-mathematical subjects? [S]
89. What is the logical basis of the indirect method or reductio ad absurdum? Can it be applied to non-mathematical topics? [S]
90. On what grounds do we believe in the reality of an historical event? [S]
90. Why do we believe in the reality of a historical event? [S]
91. "Facts are familiar theories." Explain and discuss this. [O]
91. "Facts are well-known theories." Explain and discuss this. [O]
92. Wherein lies the difficulty of proving a negative? [O]
92. What makes it hard to prove a negative? [O]
93. Can any limits be assigned to the possible unification of the sciences? [O]
93. Are there any limits to how the sciences can be unified? [O]
94. Are the results of inductive inference necessarily certain? [O]
94. Are the results of inductive reasoning always certain? [O]
95. The method of deductive science is hypothetical. Explain and discuss. [O]
95. The approach of deductive science is based on hypotheses. Explain and discuss. [O]
96. "The uniformity of Nature can never be more than a working hypothesis." Explain and criticise.
96. "The consistency of Nature can never be more than a working hypothesis." Explain and criticize.
97. "Without speculation there is no good and original observation." Why? [O]
97. "Without speculation, there’s no valuable or original observation." Why? [O]
98. Can the provinces of induction and deduction be kept separate? [O]
98. Can we keep induction and deduction separate? [O]
99. How far is the relation of logical dependence identical with that of causation? [O]
99. How similar is the relationship of logical dependence to that of causation? [O]
99A. Discuss the position that the forms of Logic are meaningless apart from their application.
99A. Discuss the idea that the types of Logic have no real meaning unless they are applied.
100. State in syllogistic form (mood and figure) the following arguments:—
100. State the following arguments in syllogistic form (mood and figure):—
(a) As polygamy is in many countries legal, we may infer the variability of the moral standard.
(a) Since polygamy is legal in many countries, we can infer that the moral standards vary.
(b) If gold is wealth, to export it diminishes the national resources.
(b) If gold is wealth, exporting it reduces the national resources.
(c) If all good people are happy, unhappiness is an indication of vice.
(c) If all good people are happy, then being unhappy is a sign of wrongdoing.
(d) One may be sure of the benefits of inuring young children to cold, from the strength exhibited by all men and women thus treated in infancy.
(d) One can be sure of the benefits of getting young children used to the cold, based on the strength shown by all men and women who were treated this way in infancy.
(e) Where there is no law, there is no injustice.
(e) Where there’s no law, there’s no injustice.
(f) "Dissimulation is but a faint kind of policy or wisdom; for it asketh a strong wit and a strong heart to know when to tell the truth, and to do it; therefore it is the weaker sort of politicians that are the greatest dissemblers." (Bacon.)
(f) "Dissimulation is just a weak form of strategy or wisdom; it takes a sharp mind and a brave heart to know when to speak the truth and actually do it; that's why the less capable politicians are often the biggest deceivers." (Bacon.)
(g) Money being a barren product, it is contrary to nature to make it reproduce itself. Usury, therefore, is unnatural, and, being unnatural, is unjustifiable.
(g) Money is a sterile thing, so it goes against nature to expect it to generate more money on its own. Therefore, usury is unnatural and, since it's unnatural, it's unjustifiable.
(h) The study of mathematics is essential to a complete course of education, because it induces a habit of close and regular reasoning. [S]
(h) Studying mathematics is crucial for a well-rounded education because it develops a habit of careful and consistent thinking. [S]
101. Explain and illustrate the following terms:—Subalternans, Vera Causa, Plurality of Causes, Law of Nature, Empirical Law, Summum Genus, Predicament, Arbor Porphyriana, Axiom, Universe of discourse (suppositio), Antinomy, Dilemma, Realism, Dichotomy, etc.
101. Explain and illustrate the following terms:—Subalternans, Vera Causa, Plurality of Causes, Law of Nature, Empirical Law, Summum Genus, Predicament, Arbor Porphyriana, Axiom, Universe of discourse (suppositio), Antinomy, Dilemma, Realism, Dichotomy, etc.
102. Is there any distinction and, if so, what, between a complete Description and an Explanation? [C]
102. Is there any difference, and if so, what is it, between a complete Description and an Explanation? [C]
103. On what principles have fallacies been classified? To what extent do you think a satisfactory classification of Fallacies possible? [C]
103. What principles have been used to classify fallacies? How feasible do you think it is to create a satisfactory classification of fallacies? [C]
104. Examine how far conceptions of Persistence and of Invariable Concomitance of Properties are involved in the methodological application of the conception of Cause.
104. Look into how the ideas of Persistence and Invariable Concomitance of Properties play a role in the methodical use of the concept of Cause.
104A. Inquire whether the two following propositions can be reconciled with one another: (a) The same conjunction of antecedents is invariably followed by the same consequent; (b) We never find the same concurrence of phenomena a second time. [C]
104A. Ask if the following two statements can be harmonized: (a) The same set of conditions is always followed by the same result; (b) We never encounter the same combination of events a second time. [C]
105. Using the term Logic in a wide sense, so as to include Methodology, inquire how far a Logic of Observation is possible, and show in what it will consist. [C]
105. Using the term Logic in a broad sense to include Methodology, examine how feasible a Logic of Observation is and demonstrate what it will involve. [C]
106. What is Proof?
106. What is proof?
Explain and discuss the following dicta:—(a) Qui nimium probat, nihil probat: (b) A bad proof is worse than no proof; (c) The exception proves the rule; (d) Negatives cannot be proved. [C]
Explain and discuss the following sayings:—(a) Qui nimium probat, nihil probat: (b) A bad proof is worse than no proof; (c) The exception proves the rule; (d) Negatives cannot be proved. [C]
107. Examine how far the rules of immediate and syllogistic inference are modified by differences of interpretation of the categorical proposition in respect of the existence of the subject. [S]
107. Look at how the rules for immediate and syllogistic inference change based on different interpretations of the categorical proposition regarding the existence of the subject. [S]
108. "An effect is but the sum of all the partial causes, the concurrence of which constitutes its existence." "The cause of an event is its invariable and unconditional antecedent." Explain and compare these two theories of causation. Does either alone exhaust the scientific conception of cause? [S]
108. "An effect is just the total of all the partial causes that come together to create its existence." "The cause of an event is its constant and unconditional predecessor." Explain and compare these two theories of causation. Does either one fully capture the scientific understanding of cause? [S]
109. Under what logical conditions are statistical inferences authorised, and what is the nature of their conclusions? [S]
109. Under what logical conditions are statistical conclusions allowed, and what do those conclusions entail? [S]
110. Distinguish between Psychology, Metaphysics, and Logic; and discuss briefly their mutual relations. [S]
110. Differentiate between Psychology, Metaphysics, and Logic, and briefly discuss their relationships with one another. [S]
111. All processes of inference in which the ultimate premises are particular cases are equally induction.
111. All reasoning processes where the final premises are specific cases are also considered induction.
Induction is an inverse deduction.
Induction is the opposite of deduction.
Explain and contrast these two theories of the relation of induction to deduction. [S]
Explain and compare these two theories about how induction relates to deduction. [S]
112. What are the Fallacies specially incident to Induction?—or to the application of the theory of Probabilities? [S]
112. What are the fallacies specifically related to induction?—or to the application of probability theory? [S]
113. What is meant by the personal error (or personal equation) in observation? Discuss its importance in different branches of knowledge. [S]
113. What is meant by the personal error (or personal equation) in observation? Discuss its importance in various fields of study. [S]
114. Define and illustrate:—Paralogism, ignoratio elenchi, fallacia accidentis, argumentum ad verecundiam, illicit process, undistributed middle, etc.
114. Define and illustrate:—Paralogism, ignoratio elenchi, fallacia accidentis, argumentum ad verecundiam, illicit process, undistributed middle, etc.
115. State the three fundamental laws of thought, explain their meaning, and consider how far they are independent of each other? [L]
115. Identify the three basic laws of thought, explain what they mean, and discuss how independent they are from one another? [L]
116. Enumerate the "Heads of Predicables" and define their meaning. Discuss their logical importance. [L]
116. List the "Heads of Predicables" and explain their meaning. Discuss their significance in logic. [L]
117. Upon what grounds has it been asserted that the conclusion of a syllogism is drawn, not from, but according to, the major premise? Are they valid? [L]
117. On what basis has it been claimed that the conclusion of a syllogism is derived, not from, but according to, the major premise? Are these claims valid? [L]
118. "Experiment is always preferable to observation." Why is this? Explain from the example of any science how observation and experiment supplement each other. [L]
118. "Experiment is always better than observation." Why is that? Use an example from any science to explain how observation and experiment support each other. [L]
119. What is a hypothesis? Distinguish between a working hypothesis and an established hypothesis, so as to bring out the conditions on which the latter depends. [L]
119. What is a hypothesis? Differentiate between a working hypothesis and an established hypothesis to highlight the conditions that the latter relies on. [L]
120. Explain how good scientific nomenclature and terminology are connected with the purposes of good classification. [L]
120. Explain how effective scientific naming and terminology are linked to the goals of proper classification. [L]
Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury for Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Ltd.
Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ltd., London and Aylesbury for Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Ltd.
Transcriber's Notes
The following corrections were made to the original text:
The following corrections were made to the original text:
Page 40: "inedequate" changed to "inadequate"
Page 40: "inadequate" changed to "inadequate"
Page 42: "classily" changed to "classify"
Page 42: "classily" changed to "classify"
Page 90: "alledging" changed to "alleging"
Page 90: "alleging" changed to "alleging"
Page 128: missing comma added: "Camenes, Dimaris"
Page 128: missing comma added: "Camenes, Dimaris"
Page 141: "evalued" changed to "evaluated"
Page 141: "evalued" changed to "evaluated"
Page 147: "tellens" changed to "tollens": "and the Modus tollens"
Page 147: "tellens" changed to "tollens": "and the Modus tollens"
Page 170: "impredictable" changed to "unpredictable"
Page 170: "unpredictable" changed to "unpredictable"
Page 210: missing word 'a' added: "Sesostris conquered a great"
Page 210: missing word 'a' added: "Sesostris conquered a great"
Page 307: "either" changed to "neither"
Page 307: "neither" changed to "neither"
Page 315: "inductions" changed to "induction"
Page 315: "induction" changed to "induction"
Page 401: "quality" changed to "quantity"
Page 401: "quantity" changed to "quantity"
Page 401: "propœdeutic" changed to "propædeutic"
Page 401: "propædeutic" changed to "propædeutic"
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