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NOVUM ORGANON
RENEWEDM.
By WILLIAM WHEWELL, D.D.,
By William Whewell, D.D.,
MASTER OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE.
MASTER OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE.
BEING THE SECOND PART OF THE PHILOSOPHY
OF THE INDUCTIVE SCIENCES.
BEING THE SECOND PART OF THE PHILOSOPHY
OF THE INDUCTIVE SCIENCES.
THE THIRD EDITION, WITH LARGE ADDITIONS.
THE THIRD EDITION, WITH SIGNIFICANT UPDATES.

ΛΑΜΠΑΔIΑ ΕΧΟΝΤΕΣ ΔIΑΔΩΣΟΥΣIΝ ΑΛΛΗΛΟIΣ
Λαμπάδες έχουν διαδώσουσιν αλλήλοις
LONDON:
JOHN W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND.
1858.
LONDON:
JOHN W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND.
1858.
It is to our immortal countryman; Bacon, that we owe the broad announcement of this grand and fertile principle; and the developement of the idea, that the whole of natural philosophy consists entirely of a series of inductive generalizations, commencing with the most circumstantially stated particulars, and carried up to universal laws, or axioms, which comprehend in their statements every subordinate degree of generality; and of a corresponding series of inverted reasoning from generals to particulars, by which these axioms are traced back into their remotest consequences, and all particular propositions deduced from them; as well those by whose immediate considerations we rose to their discovery, as those of which we had no previous knowledge.
It is to our eternal countryman, Bacon, that we owe the broad announcement of this great and valuable principle; and the development of the idea that all natural philosophy is made up entirely of a series of inductive generalizations, starting with the most detailed particulars and advancing to universal laws or axioms that encompass every level of generality; along with a corresponding series of reasoning from general principles back to particulars, which allows us to trace these axioms back to their furthest implications and deduce all specific propositions from them; including both those that led us directly to their discovery and those we knew nothing about beforehand.
Herschel, Discourse on Natural Philosophy, Art. 96.
Herschel, Discourse on Natural Philosophy, Art. 96.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
PREFACE.
Even if Bacon’s Novum Organon had possessed the character to which it aspired as completely as was possible in its own day, it would at present need renovation: and even if no such book had ever been written, it would be a worthy undertaking to determine the machinery, intellectual, social and material, by which human knowledge can best be augmented. Bacon could only divine how sciences might be constructed; we can trace, in their history, how their construction has taken place. However sagacious were his conjectures, the facts which have really occurred must give additional instruction: however large were his anticipations, the actual progress of science since his time has illustrated them in all their extent. And as to the structure and operation of the Organ by which truth is to be collected from nature,—that is, the Methods by which science is to be promoted—we know that, though Bacon’s general maxims are sagacious and animating, his particular precepts failed in his hands, and are now practically useless. This, perhaps, was not wonderful, seeing that they were, as I have said, mainly derived from conjectures respecting knowledge and the progress of knowledge; but at iv the present day, when, in several provinces of knowledge, we have a large actual progress of solid truth to look back upon, we may make the like attempt with the prospect of better success, at least on that ground. It may be a task, not hopeless, to extract from the past progress of science the elements of an effectual and substantial method of Scientific Discovery. The advances which have, during the last three centuries, been made in the physical sciences;—in Astronomy, in Physics, in Chemistry, in Natural History, in Physiology;—these are allowed by all to be real, to be great, to be striking; may it not be that the steps of progress in these different cases have in them something alike? May it not be that in each advancing movement of such knowledge there is some common principle, some common process? May it not be that discoveries are made by an Organ which has something uniform in its working? If we can shew that this is so, we shall have the New Organ, which Bacon aspired to construct, renovated according to our advanced intellectual position and office.
Even if Bacon’s Novum Organon had achieved the ambition it aimed for as fully as possible in its day, it would still need updating now: and even if such a book had never existed, it would be a worthwhile effort to identify the systems, whether intellectual, social, or material, that can best enhance human knowledge. Bacon could only imagine how sciences might be formed; we can follow, through their history, how that formation has actually occurred. No matter how insightful his theories were, the realities that have unfolded must provide additional insights: no matter how extensive his predictions were, the actual growth of science since his time has validated them in their entirety. And regarding the structure and function of the Organ that collects truth from nature—that is, the Methods to advance science—we know that, although Bacon’s broad principles are wise and inspiring, his specific recommendations fell short in his time and are now practically ineffective. This, perhaps, was not surprising, given that they were primarily based on guesses about knowledge and its advancement; but at iv present, when we can look back on significant actual advancements in various fields of knowledge, we may attempt something similar with the hope of better results, at least for that reason. It may be a task with promise to draw from the historical advancement of science the components of an effective and substantial method of Scientific Discovery. The progress made over the last three centuries in the physical sciences—such as Astronomy, Physics, Chemistry, Natural History, and Physiology—has been universally recognized as real, great, and impressive; could it be that the patterns of advancement in these different areas share something in common? Could it be that each step forward in this type of knowledge involves some shared principle, some common process? Could it be that discoveries are made by an Organ that operates uniformly? If we can demonstrate that this is the case, we will have the New Organ Bacon hoped to build, renovated according to our current intellectual state and purpose.
It was with the view of opening the way to such an attempt that I undertook that survey of the past progress of physical knowledge, of which I have given the results in the History of the Sciences, and the History of Scientific Ideas1; the former containing the history of the sciences, so far as it depends on v observed Facts; the latter containing the history of those Ideas by which such Facts are bound into Theories.
I aimed to pave the way for such an effort by conducting a survey of the past development of physical knowledge, the results of which I presented in the History of the Sciences and the History of Scientific Ideas1; the first covers the history of the sciences based on observed Facts, while the second discusses the Ideas that connect those Facts into Theories.
It can hardly happen that a work which treats of Methods of Scientific Discovery, shall not seem to fail in the positive results which it offers. For an Art of Discovery is not possible. At each step of the investigation are needed Invention, Sagacity, Genius,—elements which no art can give. We may hope in vain, as Bacon hoped, for an Organ which shall enable all men to construct Scientific Truths, as a pair of compasses enables all men to construct exact circles2. This cannot be. The practical results of the Philosophy of Science must be rather classification and analysis of what has been done, than precept and method for future doing. Yet I think that the methods of discovery which I have to recommend, though gathered from a wider survey of scientific history, both as to subjects and as to time, than (so far as I am aware) has been elsewhere attempted, are quite as definite and practical as any others which have been proposed; with the great additional advantage of being the methods by which all great discoveries in science have really been made. This may be said, for instance, of the Method of Gradation and the Method of Natural Classification, spoken of b. iii. c. viii; and in a narrower sense, of the Method of Curves, the Method of vi Means, the Method of Least Squares and the Method of Residues, spoken of in chap. vii. of the same Book. Also the Remarks on the Use of Hypotheses and on the Tests of Hypotheses (b. ii. c. v.) point out features which mark the usual course of discovery.
It’s almost impossible for a work discussing Methods of Scientific Discovery to not seem to fall short in the concrete results it presents. An Art of Discovery can’t exist. At every stage of the investigation, we need Invention, Insight, Talent—qualities that no technique can provide. We might hope, as Bacon did, for a system that would allow everyone to create Scientific Truths just as a compass allows anyone to draw perfect circles. But that won’t happen. The practical outcomes of the Philosophy of Science will be more about classifying and analyzing what has already been accomplished than about offering instruction and methods for future endeavors. Still, I believe that the discovery methods I recommend, collected from a broader look at scientific history—both in terms of topics and time—than has been attempted elsewhere (as far as I know), are just as clear and practical as any others that have been suggested. They have the added benefit of being the methods by which all major scientific discoveries have actually been made. This is true, for example, for the Method of Gradation and the Method of Natural Classification, mentioned b. iii. c. viii; and, in a more specific sense, for the Method of Curves, the Method of vi Means, the Method of Least Squares, and the Method of Residues, discussed in chap. vii. of the same Book. Additionally, the Remarks on the Use of Hypotheses and on the Tests of Hypotheses (b. ii. c. v.) highlight aspects that characterize the typical path of discovery.
But one of the principal lessons resulting from our views is undoubtedly this:—that different sciences may be expected to advance by different modes of procedure, according to their present condition; and that in many of these sciences, an Induction performed by any of the methods which have just been referred to is not the next step which we may expect to see made. Several of the sciences may not be in a condition which fits them for such a Colligation of Facts; (to use the phraseology to which the succeeding analysis has led me). The Facts may, at the present time, require to be more fully observed, or the Idea by which they are to be colligated may require to be more fully unfolded.
But one of the main lessons from our insights is definitely this: different sciences are likely to progress through different approaches, depending on their current state; and in many of these fields, an Induction using any of the methods mentioned earlier isn't the next step we can expect to see. Several sciences may not be ready for such a Colligation of Facts; (to use the terminology that the following analysis has led me to). The Facts may, right now, need to be more thoroughly observed, or the Idea that will connect them may need to be more fully developed.
But in this point also, our speculations are far from being barren of practical results. The examination to which we have subjected each science, gives us the means of discerning whether what is needed for the further progress of the science, has its place in the Observations, or in the Ideas, or in the union of the two. If observations be wanted, the Methods of Observation, given in b. iii. c. ii. may be referred to. If those who are to make the next discoveries need, for that purpose, a developement of their Ideas, the modes in which such a developement has usually taken vii place are treated of in Chapters iii. and iv. of that Book.
But in this regard, our discussions are far from lacking practical outcomes. The analysis we’ve conducted on each science provides us with the tools to determine whether what is required for further advancement of the science is found in the Observations, in the Ideas, or in the combination of both. If observations are needed, the Methods of Observation outlined in b. iii. c. ii. can be referenced. If those who are set to make the next discoveries require a development of their Ideas, the ways in which such developments usually occur are discussed in Chapters iii. and iv. of that Book.
No one who has well studied the history of science can fail to see how important a part of that history is the explication, or as I might call it, the clarification of men’s Ideas. This, the metaphysical aspect of each of the physical sciences, is very far from being, as some have tried to teach, an aspect which it passes through at an early period of progress, and previously to the stage of positive knowledge. On the contrary, the metaphysical movement is a necessary part of the inductive movement. This, which is evidently so by the nature of the case, was proved by a copious collection of historical evidences, in the History of Scientific Ideas. The ten Books of that History contain an account of the principal philosophical controversies which have taken place in all the physical sciences, from Mathematics to Physiology. These controversies, which must be called metaphysical if anything be so called, have been conducted by the greatest discoverers in each science, and have been an essential part of the discoveries made. Physical discoverers have differed from barren speculators, not by having no metaphysics in their heads, but by having good metaphysics in their heads while their adversaries had bad; and by binding their metaphysics to their physics, instead of keeping the two asunder. I trust that the History of Scientific Ideas is of some value, even as a record of a number of remarkable controversies; but I conceive that it also contains an indisputable proof that there viii is, in progressive science, a metaphysical as well as a physical element;—ideas as well as facts;—thoughts as well as things. Metaphysics is the process of ascertaining that thought is consistent with itself: and if it be not so, our supposed knowledge is not knowledge.
No one who has really studied the history of science can miss how significant a part of that history is the explanation, or as I might say, the clarification of people's ideas. This, the philosophical side of each of the physical sciences, is far from being, as some have suggested, a phase that it goes through early on in its development, before reaching the stage of solid knowledge. On the contrary, the philosophical movement is an essential component of the inductive process. This is clearly shown by the nature of the subject and was supported by a rich collection of historical evidence in the History of Scientific Ideas. The ten books of that history provide an overview of the main philosophical debates that have occurred in all the physical sciences, from Mathematics to Physiology. These debates, which must be labeled metaphysical if anything can be called that, have been led by the greatest thinkers in each science and have been a crucial part of the discoveries made. Physical discoverers have distinguished themselves from unproductive theorists, not by having no metaphysics in their minds, but by having good metaphysics while their opponents had poor ones; and by linking their metaphysics to their physics, rather than keeping the two separate. I believe that the History of Scientific Ideas holds some value, even just as a record of numerous noteworthy debates; but I also think it provides undeniable evidence that there is, in advancing science, both a metaphysical and a physical element—ideas as well as facts—thoughts as well as things. Metaphysics is the process of ensuring that thought is consistent with itself; and if it isn't, our supposed knowledge isn't real knowledge.
In Chapter vi. of the Second Book, I have spoken of the Logic of Induction. Several writers3 have quoted very emphatically my assertion that the Logic of Induction does not exist in previous writers: using it as an introduction to Logical Schemes of their own. They seem to have overlooked the fact that at the same time that I noted the deficiency, I offered a scheme which I think fitted to supply this want. And I am obliged to say that I do not regard the schemes proposed by any of those gentlemen as at all satisfactory for the purpose. But I must defer to a future occasion any criticism of authors who have written on the subjects here treated. A critical notice of such authors formed the Twelfth Book of the former edition of the Philosophy of the Sciences. I have there examined the opinions concerning the Nature of Real Knowledge and the mode of acquiring it, which have been promulgated in all ages, from Plato and Aristotle, to Roger Bacon, to Francis Bacon, to Newton, to Herschel. Such a survey, with the additions which I should now have to make to it, may hereafter be put forth as a separate book: but I ix have endeavoured to confine the present volume to such positive teaching regarding Knowledge and Science as results from the investigations pursued in the other works of this series. But with regard to this matter, of the Logic of Induction, I may venture to say, that we shall not find anything deserving the name explained in the common writers on Logic, or exhibited under the ordinary Logical Forms. That in previous writers which comes the nearest to the notice of such a Logic as the history of science has suggested and verified, is the striking declaration of Bacon in two of his Aphorisms (b. i. aph. civ. cv.).
In Chapter vi. of the Second Book, I have discussed the Logic of Induction. Several writers3 have strongly cited my claim that the Logic of Induction was not present in earlier works, using it as a foundation for their own Logical Schemes. They seem to have missed the fact that while I pointed out this gap, I also proposed a scheme that I believe effectively addresses this issue. I must say that I don’t consider any of the schemes suggested by those writers to be satisfactory for the purpose. However, I will save my critiques of authors who have written on the topics discussed here for a later time. A critical review of these authors made up the Twelfth Book of the previous edition of the Philosophy of the Sciences. In that work, I explored the views on the Nature of Real Knowledge and how it is acquired, which have been presented throughout history, from Plato and Aristotle, to Roger Bacon, to Francis Bacon, to Newton, to Herschel. Such an overview, along with any updates I would now add, may eventually be published as a separate book: but I ix have tried to keep this volume focused on the concrete teachings about Knowledge and Science that emerge from the investigations carried out in the other works of this series. Regarding the Logic of Induction, I can confidently say that we won't find anything worthy of the name explained in the standard texts on Logic or shown through the usual Logical Forms. That in previous writings which comes closest to the concept of such a Logic, as suggested and validated by the history of science, is the notable statement made by Bacon in two of his Aphorisms (b. i. aph. civ. cv.).
“There will be good hopes for the Sciences then, and not till then, when by a true scale or Ladder, and by successive steps, following continuously without gaps or breaks, men shall ascend from particulars to the narrower Propositions, from those to intermediate ones, rising in order one above another, and at last to the most general.
“There will be good hopes for the Sciences then, and not until then, when by a true scale or Ladder, and by successive steps, following continuously without gaps or breaks, people shall ascend from specifics to the narrower Propositions, from those to intermediate ones, rising in order one above another, and finally to the most general.”
“But in establishing such propositions, we must devise some other Form of Induction than has hitherto been in use; and this must be one which serves not only to prove and discover Principles, (as very general Propositions are called,) but also the narrower and the intermediate, and in short, all true Propositions.”
“But in establishing such ideas, we need to create a different Induction Method than what has been used so far; and this must be one that not only proves and uncovers Principles, (which are known as very general Propositions,) but also the more specific and intermediate ones, and in short, all true Propositions.”
And he elsewhere speaks of successive Floors of Induction.
And he also talks about different Floors of Induction.
All the truths of an extensive science form a Series of such Floors, connected by such Scales or Ladders; and a part of the Logic of Induction consists, as I x conceive, in the construction of a Scheme of such Floors. Converging from a wide basis of various classes of particulars, at last to one or a few general truths, these schemes necessarily take the shape of a Pyramid. I have constructed such Pyramids for Astronomy and for Optics4; and the illustrious Von Humboldt in speaking of the former subject, does me the honour to say that my attempt in that department is perfectly successful5. The Logic of Induction contains other portions, which may be seen in the following work, b. ii. c. vi.
All the truths of a broad science create a series of levels connected by scales or ladders; and part of the Logic of Induction involves, as I see it, crafting a scheme of these levels. Starting from a wide base of different classes of specifics, they ultimately converge to one or a few general truths, so these schemes take the shape of a pyramid. I have created such pyramids for Astronomy and for Optics4; and the esteemed Von Humboldt, when discussing the former subject, kindly mentions that my effort in that area is completely successful5. The Logic of Induction includes other sections, which you can find in the following work, b. ii. c. vi.
I have made large additions to the present edition, especially in what regards the Application of Science, (b. iii. c. ix.) and the Language of Science. The former subject I am aware that I have treated very imperfectly. It would indeed, of itself, furnish material for a large work; and would require an acquaintance with practical arts and manufactures of the most exact and extensive kind. But even a general observer may see how much more close the union of Art with Science is now than it ever was before; and what large and animating hopes this union inspires, both for the progress of Art and of Science. On another subject also I might have dilated to a great extent,—what I may call (as I have just now called it) the social machinery for the advancement of science. There can be no doubt that at certain stages of sciences, xi Societies and Associations may do much to promote their further progress; by combining their observations, comparing their views, contributing to provide material means of observation and calculation, and dividing the offices of observer and generalizer. We have had in Europe in general, and especially in this country, very encouraging examples of what may be done by such Associations. For the present I have only ventured to propound one Aphorism on the subject, namely this; (Aph. LV.) That it is worth considering whether a continued and connected system of observation and calculation, like that of Astronomy, might not be employed in improving our knowledge of other subjects; as Tides, Currents, Winds, Clouds, Rain, Terrestrial Magnetism, Aurora Borealis, composition of crystals, and the like. In saying this, I have mentioned those subjects which are, as appears to me, most likely to profit by continued and connected observations.
I have made significant additions to this edition, especially regarding the Application of Science, (b. iii. c. ix.) and the Language of Science. I know that I have addressed the former subject somewhat inadequately. In fact, it could serve as the basis for a large work and would require a deep understanding of practical arts and extensive manufacturing processes. However, even a casual observer can see how much closer the relationship between Art and Science is now than it has ever been; and what great and inspiring hopes this connection brings for the advancement of both Art and Science. I could also have expanded significantly on another topic—what I refer to as the social machinery for advancing science. There's no doubt that at certain stages of scientific development, Societies and Associations can greatly enhance progress by pooling observations, comparing perspectives, providing material resources for observation and calculation, and sharing the roles of observer and analyst. We have had very encouraging examples in Europe, particularly in this country, of what can be achieved through such Associations. For now, I have only ventured to propose one Aphorism on the subject, which is this: (Aph. LV.) It’s worth considering whether a continuous and systematic approach to observation and calculation, similar to that used in Astronomy, could be applied to improve our understanding of other subjects like Tides, Currents, Winds, Clouds, Rain, Earth’s Magnetism, Aurora Borealis, the composition of crystals, and similar topics. In mentioning these subjects, I believe they are the most likely to benefit from sustained and organized observations.
I have thrown the substance of my results into Aphorisms, as Bacon had done in his Novum Organum. This I have done, not in the way of delivering dogmatic assertions or oracular sentences; for the Aphorisms are all supported by reasoning, and were, in fact, written after the reasoning, and extracted from it. I have adopted this mode of gathering results into compact sentences, because it seems to convey lessons with additional clearness and emphasis.
I have condensed the essence of my findings into Aphorisms, just like Bacon did in his Novum Organum. I chose this approach not to present dogmatic statements or prophetic phrases; instead, each Aphorism is backed by reasoning and was actually created after the reasoning, derived from it. I adopted this method of summarizing results into concise sentences because it appears to communicate lessons with greater clarity and emphasis.
I have only to repeat what I have already said; that this task of adapting the Novum Organum to the xii present state of Physical Science, and of constructing a Newer Organ which may answer the purposes at which Bacon aimed, seems to belong to the present generation; and being here founded upon a survey of the past history and present condition of the Physical Sciences, will I hope, not be deemed presumptuous.
I just need to say again what I've already stated: adapting the Novum Organum to the xii current state of Physical Science and creating a Newer Organ that fulfills the goals Bacon intended seems to be a task for this generation. Based on an overview of the history and current situation of the Physical Sciences, I hope this won't be seen as arrogant.
Trinity Lodge,
Trinity Lodge
1 November, 1858.
November 1858.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE | ||||
---|---|---|---|---|
Preface | iii | |||
Book 1. | ||||
APHORISMS CONCERNING IDEAS. | ||||
Sayings I. | — | XVIII. | Ideas in general | 5—7 |
XIX. | — | XLIV. | Ideas in the Pure Sciences | 8—12 |
XLV. | — | LV. | Ideas in the Mechanical Sciences | 13—15 |
LVI. | — | LXXI. | Ideas in the Secondary Mechanical Sciences | 15—18 |
LXXII. | — | LXXIII. | Ideas in the Mechanico-chemical Sciences | 18 |
LXXIV. | — | LXXIX. | Ideas in Chemistry | 18 |
LXXX. | — | LXXXI. | Ideas in Morphology | 19 |
LXXXII. | — | C. | Ideas in Classificatory Science | 20—23 |
CI. | — | CVI. | Ideas in Biology | 23—24 |
CVII. | — | CXVII. | Ideas in Palæontology | 24—26 |
Book II. | ||||
OF KNOWLEDGE. | ||||
Chap. I. | Of Two Principal Processes by which Science is constructed | 27 | ||
Chap. II. | Of the Explication of Conceptions | 30 | ||
Sect. I. | The Historical Progress. | |||
Art. | 1. | The Explication of Conceptions, | ||
2. | Has taken place historically by discussions. | |||
{xiv} | ||||
Art. | 3. | False Doctrines when exposed appear impossible: | ||
4. | But were plausible before | |||
5. | Men’s Minds gradually cleared. | |||
Sect. II. | Use of definitions. | |||
Art. | 6. | Controversies about Definitions. | ||
7. | Not arbitrary Definitions. | |||
8. | Attention to Facts requisite. | |||
9. | Definition is not essential. | |||
10. | The omission of Definition not always blameable. | |||
Sect. III. | Use of Axioms. | |||
Art. | 11. | Axioms serve to express Ideas. | ||
Sect. IV. | Clear and appropriate Ideas. | |||
Art. | 12. | We must see the Axioms clearly. | ||
13. | Inappropriate Ideas cannot lead to Truth. | |||
14. | The fault is in the Conceptions. | |||
15. | Rules cannot teach Discovery; | |||
16. | But are not useless. | |||
17. | Discussion as well as Facts needed. | |||
Sect. V. | Accidental Discoveries. | |||
Art. | 18. | No Scientific Discovery is accidental. | ||
19. | Such accidents do not happen to common Men. | |||
20. | Examples. | |||
21. | So far Explication of Conceptions. | |||
Chap. III. | Of Facts as the Materials of Science | 50 | ||
Art. | 1. | Facts must be true. | ||
2. | Facts not separable from Ideas. | |||
3. | The Ideas must be distinct. | |||
4. | Conceptions of the Intellect only to be admitted. | |||
5. | Facts are to be observed with reference to Space and Time: | |||
6. | And also to other Ideas. | |||
7. | The Decomposition of Facts. | |||
{xv} | ||||
Art. | 8. | This step is not sufficient. | ||
9. | It introduces Technical Terms, | |||
10. | And Classification. | |||
11. | The materials of Science. | |||
Chap. IV. | Of the Colligation of Facts | 59 | ||
Art. | 1. | Facts are colligated by Conceptions. | ||
2. | Science begins with common Observation. | |||
3. | Facts must be decomposed. | |||
4. | What Ideas first give Sciences. | |||
5. | Facts must be referred to Ideas. | |||
6. | Sagacity needed. | |||
7. | Discovery made by Guesses. | |||
8. | False Hypotheses preluding to true ones. | |||
9. | New Hypotheses not mere modifications of old ones. | |||
10. | Hypotheses may have superfluous parts. | |||
11. | Hypotheses to be compared with Facts. | |||
12. | Secondary Steps. | |||
Chap. V. | Of certain Characteristics of Scientific Induction | 70 | ||
Sect. I. | Invention a part of Induction. | |||
Art. | 1. | Induction the source of Knowledge. | ||
2. | Induction involves a New Element. | |||
3. | Meaning of Induction. | |||
4. | The New Element is soon forgotten. | |||
5. | Induction includes a Definition and a Proposition. | |||
Sect. II. | Use of Hypotheses. | |||
Art. | 6. | Discoveries made by Guesses, | ||
7. | Which must be compared with Facts. | |||
8. | Hypotheses are suspected. | |||
9. | Hypotheses may be useful though inaccurate. | |||
Sect. III. | Tests of Hypotheses. | |||
Art. | 10. | True Hypotheses foretel Phenomena, | ||
11. | Even of different kinds.—Consilience of Inductions. | |||
{xvi} | ||||
Art. | 12. | True Theories tend to Simplicity. | ||
13. | Connexion of the last Tests. | |||
Chap. VI. | Of the Logic of Induction | 97 | ||
Art. | 1. | Steps of Generalization, | ||
2. | May be expressed by Tables. | |||
3. | Which exhibit Inductive Steps; | |||
4. | And the Consilience of Inductions; | |||
5. | And the tendency to Simplicity; | |||
6. | And the names of Discoverers; | |||
7. | And the Verifications of Theory; | |||
8. | By means of several easy steps. | |||
9. | This resembles Book-keeping. | |||
10. | The Logic of Induction. | |||
11. | Attention at each step required. | |||
12. | General Truths are not mere additions of particulars: | |||
13. | But a new view is introduced. | |||
14. | Formula of Inductive Logic: | |||
15. | May refer to Definition. | |||
16. | Formula inadequate. | |||
17. | Deductive Connexion of Steps. | |||
18. | Relation of Deductive and Inductive Reasoning. | |||
19. | The Criterion of Truth. | |||
20. | Theory and Fact. | |||
21. | Higher and Lower Generalizations. | |||
Chap. VII. | Of Laws of Phenomena and of Causes | 118 | ||
Art. | 1. | Knowledge of Laws of Phenomena. | ||
2. | Formal and Physical Sciences. | |||
3. | Causes in Astronomy. | |||
4. | Different Mechanical Causes in other Sciences. | |||
5. | Chemical and Vital Forces as Causes. | |||
6. | Difference of these kinds of Force. | |||
7. | Difficulty of conceiving new Causes. | |||
8. | Men willingly take old Causes. | |||
9. | Is the Magnetic Fluid real? | |||
10. | Are Causes to be sought? (Comte’s Doctrine.) | |||
11. | Both Laws and Causes to be studied. | |||
{xvii} | ||||
Chap. VIII. | Of Art and Science | 129 | ||
Art. | 1. | Art precedes Science. | ||
2. | Contrast of Art and Science. | |||
3. | Instinct and Insight. | |||
4. | Difference of Art and Instinct. | |||
5. | Does Art involve Science? | |||
6. | Science unfolds Principles. | |||
7. | Science may improve Art. | |||
8. | Arts not classified with Sciences. | |||
Chap. IX. | Of the Classification of Sciences | 136 | ||
Art. | 1. | Use and Limits of such Classification. | ||
2. | Classification depends on the Ideas. | |||
3. | This points out Transitions. | |||
4. | The Classification. | |||
Inductive Table of Astronomy | 140 | |||
Inductive Table of Optics | 140 | |||
Book 3. | ||||
OF METHODS EMPLOYED IN THE FORMATION OF SCIENCE. | ||||
Chap. I. | Introduction | 141 | ||
Art. | 1. | Object of this Book. | ||
2. | An Art of Discovery not possible. | |||
3. | Use of Methods. | |||
4. | Series of Six Processes. | |||
5. | Methods of Observation and Induction. | |||
Chap. II. | Of Methods of Observation | 145 | ||
Art. | 1. | Referring to Number, Space, and Time. | ||
2. | Observations are never perfect. | |||
3. | (I.) Number is naturally exact. | |||
4. | (II.) Measurement of Space. | |||
5. | Instruments Invented in Astronomy, | |||
6. | And improved. | |||
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Art. | 7. | Goniometer. | ||
8. | Standard of Length. | |||
10. | (III.) Measurement of Time. | |||
11. | Unit of Time. | |||
12. | Transit Instrument. | |||
13. | Chronometers. | |||
14. | (IV.) Conversion of Space and Time. | |||
15. | Space may Measure Time. | |||
16. | Time may Measure Space. | |||
17. | (V.) The Method of Repetition. | |||
18. | The Method of Coincidences. | |||
19. | Applied to Pendulums. | |||
20. | (VI.) Measurement of Weight. | |||
21. | Standard of Weight. | |||
22. | (VII.) Measurement of Secondary Qualities. | |||
23. | “The Howl” in Harmonics. | |||
24. | (VIII.) Manipulation. | |||
25. | Examples in Optics. | |||
26. | (IX.) The Education of the Senses, | |||
27. | By the Study of Natural History. | |||
28. | Preparation for Ideas. | |||
Chap. III. | Of Methods of Acquiring clear Scientific Ideas; and first of Intellectual Education | 164 | ||
Art. | 1. | (I.) Idea of Space. | ||
2. | Education by Geometry. | |||
3. | (II.) Idea of Number. | |||
4. | Effect of the usual Education. | |||
5. | (III.) Idea of Force. | |||
6. | Study of Mechanics needed, | |||
7. | To make Newton intelligible. | |||
8. | No Popular Road. | |||
9. | (IV.) Chemical Ideas. | |||
10. | (V.) Natural History Ideas. | |||
11. | Natural Classes to be taught. | |||
12. | Mathematical Prejudices, | |||
13. | To be corrected by Natural History. | |||
14. | Method of Natural History, | |||
15. | Resembles common language. | |||
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Art. | 16. | Its Lessons. | ||
17. | (VI.) Well-established Ideas alone to be used. | |||
18. | How are Ideas cleared? | |||
Chap. IV. | Of Methods of Acquiring Clear Scientific Ideas, continued.—Of the Discussion of Ideas | 180 | ||
Art. | 1. | Successive Clearness, | ||
2. | Produced by Discussion. | |||
3. | Examples. | |||
4. | Disputes not useless, | |||
5. | Although “metaphysical.” | |||
6. | Connected with Facts. | |||
Chap. V. | Analysis of the Process of Induction | 186 | ||
Sect. I. | The Three Steps of Induction. | |||
Art. | 1. | Methods may be useful. | ||
2. | The three Steps. | |||
3. | Examples. | |||
4. | Mathematical names of the Steps. | |||
Sect. II. | Of the Selection of the Fundamental Idea. | |||
Art. | 5. | Examples. | ||
6. | The Idea to be found by trying, | |||
7. | Till the Discovery is made; | |||
8. | Preluded by Guesses. | |||
9. | Idea and Facts homogeneous. | |||
10. | Idea tested by the Facts. | |||
Chap. VI. | General Rules for the Construction of the Conception | 195 | ||
Art. | 1. | First: for Quantity. | ||
2. | Formula and Coefficients found together. | |||
3. | Example. Law of Cooling. | |||
4. | Determined by Experiment. | |||
5. | Progressive Series of Numbers. | |||
6. | Recurrent Series. | |||
7. | Use of Hypotheses. | |||
8. | Even with this there are difficulties. | |||
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Chap. VII. | Special Methods of Induction Applicable to Quantity | 202 | ||
Sect. I. | The Method of Curves. | |||
Art. | 1. | Its Process. | ||
2. | Its Use. | |||
3. | With imperfect Observations. | |||
4. | It corrects Observations. | |||
5. | Obstacles. (I.) Ignorance of the argument. | |||
6. | (II.) Combination of Laws. | |||
Sect. II. | The Method of Means. | |||
Art. | 7. | Its Relation to the Method of Curves. | ||
8. | Its process. | |||
9. | Argument required to be known. | |||
10. | Use of the Method. | |||
11. | Large masses of Observations used. | |||
12. | Proof of the Use of the Method. | |||
Sect. III. | The Method of Least Squares. | |||
Art. | 13. | Is a Method of Means. | ||
14. | Example. | |||
Sect. IV. | The Method of Residues. | |||
Art. | 15. | Occasion for its Use. | ||
16. | Its Process. | |||
17. | Examples. | |||
18. | Its Relation to the Method of Means. | |||
19. | Example. | |||
20. | “Residual Phenomena.” | |||
Chap. VIII. | Methods of Induction Depending on Resemblance | 220 | ||
Sect. I. | The Law of Continuity. | |||
Art. | 1. | Its Nature and Application, | ||
2. | To Falling Bodies, | |||
3. | To Hard Bodies, | |||
4. | To Gravitation. | |||
5. | The Evidence. | |||
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Sect. II. | The Method of Gradation. | |||
Art. | 6. | Occasions of its Use. | ||
7. | Examples. | |||
8. | Not enjoined by Bacon. | |||
9. | Other Examples. | |||
10. | Its Value in Geology. | |||
11. | Limited Results. | |||
Sect. III. | The Method of Natural Classification. | |||
Art. | 12. | Examples of its Use. | ||
13. | Its Process. | |||
14. | Negative Results. | |||
15. | Is opposed to Arbitrary Definitions. | |||
16. | Propositions and Definitions correlative. | |||
17. | Definitions only provisional. | |||
Chap. IX. | Of the Application of Inductive Truths | 233 | ||
Art. | 1. | This forms the Sequel of Discovery. | ||
2. | Systematic Verification of Discoveries. | |||
3. | Correction of Coefficients. | |||
4. | Astronomy a Model. | |||
5. | Verification by new cases. | |||
6. | Often requires fresh calculation. | |||
7. | Cause of Dew. | |||
8. | Useful Applications. | |||
Chap. X. | Of the Induction of Causes | 247 | ||
Art. | 1. | Is to be pursued. | ||
2. | Induction of Substance. | |||
3. | Induction of Force. | |||
4. | Induction of Polarity. | |||
5. | Is Gravity Polar? | |||
6. | Induction of Ulterior Causes. | |||
7. | Of the Supreme Cause. | |||
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Book 4. | ||||
OF THE LANGUAGE OF SCIENCE. | ||||
Introduction | 257 | |||
Aphorisms concerning the Language of Science. | ||||
Aphorism I. | Relative to the Ancient Period | 258 | ||
Art. | 1. | Common Words. | ||
2. | Descriptive Terms. | |||
3. | Theoretical Terms. | |||
Aphorism II. | Relative to the Modern Period | 269 | ||
Art. | 1. | Systematic Nomenclature. | ||
2. | Systematic Terminology. | |||
3. | Systematic Modification. | |||
Aphorisms (III. IV. V. VI. VII.) relative to the Application of Common Words | 278 | |||
Aphorisms (VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.) relative to the Construction of New Terms | 285 | |||
Aphorism XIV. | Binary Nomenclature | 307 | ||
XV. | Linnæan Maxims | 308 | ||
XVI. | Numerical Names | 309 | ||
XVII. | Names of more than two Steps | 310 | ||
XVIII. | No arbitrary Terms | 311 | ||
XIX. | Forms fixed by Convention | 314 | ||
XX. | Form of Terms | 318 | ||
Art. | 1. | Terms derived from Latin and Greek. | ||
2. | German Terms. | |||
3. | Descriptive Terms. | |||
4. | Nomenclature. Zoology. | |||
5. | —————— Mineralogy. | |||
6. | —————— Botany. | |||
7. | —————— Chemistry. | |||
8. | —————— Crystallography. | |||
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Aphorism XXI. | Philological Rules | 328 | ||
Art. | 1. | Hybrids. | ||
2. | Terminations of Substantives. | |||
3. | Formations of Substantives (names of things). | |||
4. | Abstract Substantives. | |||
5. | Rules of derivation from Greek and Latin. | |||
6. | Modification of Terminations. | |||
Aphorism XXII. | Introduction of Changes | 341 | ||
FURTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE APHORISMS ON SCIENTIFIC LANGUAGE, FROM THE RECENT COURSE OF SCIENCES. | ||||
1. Plant science. | ||||
Aphorism XXIII. | Multiplication of Genera | 346 | ||
2. Comparative anatomy. | ||||
Aphorism XXIV. | Single Names to be used | 353 | ||
XXV. | The History of Science is the History of its Language | 355 | ||
XXVI. | Algebraical Symbols | 357 | ||
XXVII. | Algebraical Analogies | 364 | ||
XXVIII. | Capricious Derivations | 365 | ||
XXIX. | Inductions are our Definitions | 368 |
NOVUM ORGANON
RENOVATUM.
New Organon
Revised.
De Scientiis tum demum bene sperandum est, quando per Scalam veram et per gradus continuos, et non intermissos aut hiulcos, a particularibus ascendetur ad Axiomata minora, et deinde ad media, alia aliis superiora, et postremo demum ad generalissima.
De Scientiis we can finally have good hope when we climb through the true Scalam in continuous steps, without interruptions or gaps, from specific cases up to the lesser Axioms, then to the middle ones, higher to others, and finally to the most general ones.
In constituendo autem Axiomate, Forma Inductionis alia quam adhuc in usu fuit, excogitanda est; et quæ non ad Principia tantum (quæ vocant) probanda et invenienda, sed etiam ad Axiomata minora, et media, denique omnia.
In establishing the Axiom, a different form of Orientation needs to be thought out than what has been used so far; one that applies not only to proving and discovering the so-called Principles, but also to the smaller, intermediate Axioms, and ultimately to everything.
Bacon, Nov. Org., Aph. civ. cv.
Bacon, Nov. Org., Aph. civ. cv.
NOVUM ORGANON RENOVATUM.
The name Organon was applied to the works of Aristotle which treated of Logic, that is, of the method of establishing and proving knowledge, and of refuting errour, by means of Syllogisms. Francis Bacon, holding that this method was insufficient and futile for the augmentation of real and useful knowledge, published his Novum Organon, in which he proposed for that purpose methods from which he promised a better success. Since his time real and useful knowledge has made great progress, and many Sciences have been greatly extended or newly constructed; so that even if Bacon’s method had been the right one, and had been complete as far as the progress of Science up to his time could direct it, there would be room for the revision and improvement of the methods of arriving at scientific knowledge.
The name Organon referred to Aristotle's works on Logic, which focused on the way to establish and prove knowledge and to refute errors through Syllogisms. Francis Bacon believed this method was inadequate and unproductive for increasing real and useful knowledge, so he published his Novum Organon, where he suggested new methods that he claimed would yield better results. Since then, real and useful knowledge has advanced significantly, and many Sciences have expanded or been newly developed; thus, even if Bacon’s method had been correct and sufficient for the scientific progress of his time, there would still be a need to revise and improve the ways of acquiring scientific knowledge.
Inasmuch as we have gone through the Histories of the principal Sciences, from the earliest up to the present time, in a previous work, and have also traced the History of Scientific Ideas in another work, it may perhaps be regarded as not too presumptuous if we attempt this revision and improvement of the methods by which Sciences must rise and grow. This 4 is our task in the present volume; and to mark the reference of this undertaking to the work of Bacon, we name our book Novum Organon Renovatum.
As we've explored the Histories of the main Sciences from their beginnings to now in a previous work, and have also examined the History of Scientific Ideas in another, it might not be too bold for us to try this revision and enhancement of the methods through which Sciences should develop and progress. This 4 is our aim in this volume; and to connect this effort to Bacon's work, we titled our book Novum Organon Renovatum.
Bacon has delivered his precepts in Aphorisms, some of them stated nakedly, others expanded into dissertations. The general results at which we have arrived by tracing the history of Scientific Ideas are the groundwork of such Precepts as we have to give: and I shall therefore begin by summing up these results in Aphorisms, referring to the former work for the historical proof that these Aphorisms are true.
Bacon has shared his principles in Aphorisms, some presented plainly, others elaborated into essays. The overall conclusions we've reached by exploring the history of Scientific Ideas form the foundation of the Precepts we will provide. I will start by summarizing these results in Aphorisms and will refer to the previous work for the historical evidence that these Aphorisms are valid.
NOVUM ORGANON RENOVATUM.
Renovated New Organon.
BOOK I.
APHORISMS CONCERNING IDEAS DERIVED FROM THE HISTORY OF IDEAS.
APHORISMS ABOUT IDEAS FROM THE HISTORY OF IDEAS.
I.
I.
MAN is the Interpreter of Nature, Science the right interpretation. (History of Scientific Ideas: Book i. Chapter 1.)
Humans are the interpreters of nature, and science provides the correct interpretation. (History of Scientific Ideas: Book i. Chapter 1.)
II.
II.
The Senses place before us the Characters of the Book of Nature; but these convey no knowledge to us, till we have discovered the Alphabet by which they are to be read. (Ibid. i. 2.)
The Senses present us with the Characters of the Book of Nature; but these don't give us any knowledge until we have figured out the Alphabet needed to understand them. (Ibid. i. 2.)
III.
III.
The Alphabet, by means of which we interpret Phenomena, consists of the Ideas existing in our own minds; for these give to the phenomena that coherence and significance which is not an object of sense. (i. 2.)
The Alphabet, through which we understand phenomena, consists of the ideas that exist in our minds; these provide the phenomena with the coherence and significance that cannot be perceived through our senses. (i. 2.)
IV.
IV.
The antithesis of Sense and Ideas is the foundation of the Philosophy of Science. No knowledge can exist without the union, no philosophy without the separation, of these two elements. (i. 2.) 6
The opposite of Sense and Ideas is the basis of the Philosophy of Science. No knowledge can exist without the combination, and no philosophy without the distinction, of these two elements. (i. 2.) 6
V.
V.
Fact and Theory correspond to Sense on the one hand, and to Ideas on the other, so far as we are conscious of our Ideas: but all facts involve ideas unconsciously; and thus the distinction of Facts and Theories is not tenable, as that of Sense and Ideas is. (i. 2.)
Fact and Theory correspond to Sense on one side, and to Ideas on the other, as long as we are aware of our Ideas: but all facts involve ideas without us realizing it; and so the distinction between Facts and Theories doesn't hold up, unlike the distinction between Sense and Ideas. (i. 2.)
VI.
VI.
Sensations and Ideas in our knowledge are like Matter and Form in bodies. Matter cannot exist without Form, nor Form without Matter: yet the two are altogether distinct and opposite. There is no possibility either of separating, or of confounding them. The same is the case with Sensations and Ideas. (i. 2.)
Sensations and Ideas in our understanding are like Matter and Form in physical bodies. Matter can't exist without Form, and Form can't exist without Matter; yet the two are completely distinct and opposite. It's impossible to either separate them or confuse them. The same goes for Sensations and Ideas. (i. 2.)
VII.
VII.
Ideas are not transformed, but informed Sensations; for without ideas, sensations have no form. (i. 2.)
Ideas aren't transformed, but informed sensations; because without ideas, sensations have no structure. (i. 2.)
VIII.
VIII.
The Sensations are the Objective, the Ideas the Subjective part of every act of perception or knowledge. (i. 2.)
The sensations are the objective, the ideas the subjective part of every act of perception or knowledge. (i. 2.)
IX.
IX.
General Terms denote Ideal Conceptions, as a circle, an orbit, a rose. These are not Images of real things, as was held by the Realists, but Conceptions: yet they are conceptions, not bound together by mere Name, as the Nominalists held, but by an Idea. (i. 2.)
General Terms represent Ideal Concepts, like a circle, an orbit, a rose. These aren't Images of real things, as the Realists believed, but Concepts: however, they are concepts that are not connected merely by Name, as the Nominalists claimed, but by an Idea. (i. 2.)
X.
X.
It has been said by some, that all Conceptions are merely states or feelings of the mind, but this assertion only tends to confound what it is our business to distinguish. (i. 2.)
Some have said that all ideas are just states or feelings of the mind, but this claim only serves to blur the lines of what we need to clarify. (i. 2.)
XI.
XI.
Observed Facts are connected so as to produce new truths, by superinducing upon them an Idea: and such truths are obtained by Induction. (i. 2.) 7
Observed Facts are linked together to create new truths by adding an Idea to them; these truths are acquired through Induction. (i. 2.) 7
XII.
XII.
Truths once obtained by legitimate Induction are Facts: these Facts may be again connected, so as to produce higher truths: and thus we advance to Successive Generalizations. (i. 2.)
Truths that are gained through legitimate reasoning are Facts: these Facts can be linked together again to create higher truths: and in this way, we progress to Successive Generalizations. (i. 2.)
XIII.
XIII.
Truths obtained by Induction are made compact and permanent by being expressed in Technical Terms. (i. 3.)
Truths gained through Induction are made concise and lasting by being expressed in Technical Terms. (i. 3.)
XIV.
XIV.
Experience cannot conduct us to universal and necessary truths:—Not to universal, because she has not tried all cases:—Not to necessary, because necessity is not a matter to which experience can testify. (i. 5.)
Experience can't lead us to universal and necessary truths:—Not universal because it hasn't been tested in every situation:—Not necessary because necessity isn't something that experience can prove. (i. 5.)
XV.
XV.
Necessary truths derive their necessity from the Ideas which they involve; and the existence of necessary truths proves the existence of Ideas not generated by experience. (i. 5.)
Necessary truths get their necessity from the Ideas that they include; and the presence of necessary truths shows that there are Ideas not formed by experience. (i. 5.)
XVI.
XVI.
In Deductive Reasoning, we cannot have any truth in the conclusion which is not virtually contained in the premises. (i. 6.)
In Deductive Reasoning, we can't have any truth in the conclusion that isn't already included in the premises. (i. 6.)
XVII.
XVII.
In order to acquire any exact and solid knowledge, the student must possess with perfect precision the ideas appropriate to that part of knowledge: and this precision is tested by the student’s perceiving the axiomatic evidence of the axioms belonging to each Fundamental Idea. (i. 6.)
To gain any precise and solid understanding, the student must have a clear grasp of the concepts related to that area of knowledge: and this clarity is assessed by the student’s ability to recognize the obvious truth of the axioms associated with each Fundamental Idea. (i. 6.)
XVIII.
XVIII.
The Fundamental Ideas which it is most important to consider, as being the Bases of the Material Sciences, are the Ideas of Space, Time (including Number), Cause (including Force and Matter), Outness of Objects, and Media of Perception of Secondary Qualities, Polarity (Contrariety), 8 Chemical Composition and Affinity, Substance, Likeness and Natural Affinity, Means and Ends (whence the Notion of Organization), Symmetry, and the Ideas of Vital Powers. (i. 8.)
The key concepts that are crucial to understand, as they form the foundation of the material sciences, are the concepts of Space, Time (which includes Number), Cause (which includes Force and Matter), the Outness of Objects, and Media for perceiving Secondary Qualities, Polarity (Opposition), 8 Chemical Composition and Affinity, Substance, Likeness and Natural Affinity, Means and Ends (which lead to the concept of Organization), Symmetry, and the ideas of Vital Powers. (i. 8.)
XIX.
XIX.
The Sciences which depend upon the Ideas of Space and Number are Pure Sciences, not Inductive Sciences: they do not infer special Theories from Facts, but deduce the conditions of all theory from Ideas. The Elementary Pure Sciences, or Elementary Mathematics, are Geometry, Theoretical Arithmetic and Algebra. (ii. 1.)
The sciences that rely on the concepts of space and number are pure sciences, not inductive sciences: they don't derive specific theories from facts, but rather deduce the conditions of all theory from concepts. The fundamental pure sciences, or elementary mathematics, include geometry, theoretical arithmetic, and algebra. (ii. 1.)
XX.
XX.
The Ideas on which the Pure Sciences depend, are those of Space and Number; but Number is a modification of the conception of Repetition, which belongs to the Idea of Time. (ii. 1.)
The concepts that the Pure Sciences rely on are those of Space and Number; however, Number is a variation of the idea of Repetition, which is related to the concept of Time. (ii. 1.)
XXI.
XXI.
The Idea of Space is not derived from experience, for experience of external objects presupposes bodies to exist in Space, Space is a condition under which the mind receives the impressions of sense, and therefore the relations of space are necessarily and universally true of all perceived objects. Space is a form of our perceptions, and regulates them, whatever the matter of them may be. (ii. 2.)
The Idea of Space doesn't come from experience, because experiencing external objects assumes that bodies exist in Space. Space is a condition that allows the mind to receive sensory impressions, so the relationships of space are necessarily and universally true for all perceived objects. Space is a framework for our perceptions and shapes them, regardless of the content of those perceptions. (ii. 2.)
XXII.
XXII.
Space is not a General Notion collected by abstraction from particular cases; for we do not speak of Spaces in general, but of universal or absolute Space. Absolute Space is infinite. All special spaces are in absolute space, and are parts of it. (ii. 3.)
Space isn’t just a general idea derived from specific examples; we don't talk about spaces in general, but about universal or absolute space. Absolute space is infinite. All specific spaces exist within absolute space, and are parts of it. (ii. 3.)
XXIII.
XXIII.
Space is not a real object or thing, distinct from the objects which exist in it; but it is a real condition of the existence of external objects. (ii. 3.) 9
Space isn't a tangible object or thing separate from the objects that exist within it; rather, it's a real condition for the existence of external objects. (ii. 3.) 9
XXIV.
XXIV.
We have an Intuition of objects in space; that is, we contemplate objects as made up of spatial parts, and apprehend their spatial relations by the same act by which we apprehend the objects themselves. (ii. 3.)
We have an intuition of objects in space; that is, we think about objects as composed of spatial parts, and understand their spatial relationships through the same act that allows us to understand the objects themselves. (ii. 3.)
XXV.
XXV.
Form or Figure is space limited by boundaries. Space has necessarily three dimensions, length, breadth, depth; and no others which cannot be resolved into these. (ii. 3.)
Form or Figure is space confined by boundaries. Space must have three dimensions: length, width, height; and there are no other dimensions that can’t be broken down into these. (ii. 3.)
XXVI.
XXVI.
The Idea of Space is exhibited for scientific purposes, by the Definitions and Axioms of Geometry; such, for instance, as these:—the Definition of a Right Angle, and of a Circle;—the Definition of Parallel Lines, and the Axiom concerning them;—the Axiom that two straight lines cannot inclose a space. These Definitions are necessary, not arbitrary; and the Axioms are needed as well as the Definitions, in order to express the necessary conditions which the Idea of Space imposes. (ii. 4.)
The concept of space is demonstrated for scientific purposes through the Definitions and Axioms of Geometry; examples include: the definition of a right angle and a circle; the definition of parallel lines, and the axiom related to them; the axiom that two straight lines cannot enclose a space. These Definitions are necessary, not arbitrary; and the Axioms are essential alongside the Definitions to express the necessary conditions imposed by the concept of space. (ii. 4.)
XXVII.
XXVII.
The Definitions and Axioms of Elementary Geometry do not completely exhibit the Idea of Space. In proceeding to the Higher Geometry, we may introduce other additional and independent Axioms; such as that of Archimedes, that a curve line which joins two points is less than any broken line joining the same points and including the curve line. (ii. 4.)
The Definitions and Axioms of Elementary Geometry do not completely represent the concept of Space. When moving on to Higher Geometry, we can introduce other additional and independent Axioms, like Archimedes' principle that a curved line connecting two points is shorter than any broken line connecting the same points and including the curved line. (ii. 4.)
XXVIII.
XXVIII.
The perception of a solid object by sight requires that act of mind by which, from figure and shade, we infer distance and position in space. The perception of figure by sight requires that act of mind by which we give an outline to each object. (ii. 6.) 10
To see a solid object requires mental effort to determine distance and position based on its shape and shadows. To perceive shape by sight also requires mental effort to define the outline of each object. (ii. 6.) 10
XXIX.
XXIX.
The perception of Form by touch is not an impression on the passive sense, but requires an act of our muscular frame by which we become aware of the position of our own limbs. The perceptive faculty involved in this act has been called the muscular sense. (ii. 6.)
When we perceive shape through touch, it's not just a passive sensation; it involves an active engagement of our muscles that helps us understand the position of our own limbs. The sense we use for this awareness is referred to as the muscular sense. (ii. 6.)
XXX.
XXX.
The Idea of Time is not derived from experience, for experience of changes presupposes occurrences to take place in Time. Time is a condition under which the mind receives the impressions of sense, and therefore the relations of time are necessarily and universally true of all perceived occurrences. Time is a form of our perceptions, and regulates them, whatever the matter of them may be. (ii. 7.)
The Idea of Time doesn't come from experience, because experiencing changes presupposes that events happen in Time. Time is a condition that allows the mind to take in sensory impressions, so the relationships of time are inherently and universally true for all perceived events. Time is a framework for our perceptions, and it shapes them, regardless of what the content may be. (ii. 7.)
XXXI.
XXXI.
Time is not a General Notion collected by abstraction from particular cases. For we do not speak of particular Times as examples of time in general, but as parts of a single and infinite Time. (ii. 8.)
Time isn't just a general idea formed from specific instances. We don't refer to individual Times as examples of time in general, but as segments of a unique and endless Time. (ii. 8.)
XXXII.
XXXII.
Time, like Space, is a form, not only of perception, but of Intuition. We consider the whole of any time as equal to the sum of the parts; and an occurrence as coinciding with the portion of time which it occupies. (ii. 8.)
Time, like Space, is a framework, not just a way of seeing things, but Intuition. We view any stretch of time as equivalent to the total of its parts; and an event as happening within the segment of time it takes up. (ii. 8.)
XXXIII.
XXXIII.
Time is analogous to Space of one dimension: portions of both have a beginning and an end, are long or short. There is nothing in Time which is analogous to Space of two, or of three, dimensions, and thus nothing which corresponds to Figure. (ii. 8.)
Time is similar to one-dimensional Space: both have sections that start and end, and can be long or short. There’s nothing in Time that compares to two-dimensional or three-dimensional Space, so there’s nothing that aligns with Figure. (ii. 8.)
XXXIV.
XXXIV.
The Repetition of a set of occurrences, as, for example, strong and weak, or long and short sounds, according to a 11 steadfast order, produces Rhythm, which is a conception peculiar to Time, as Figure is to Space. (ii. 8.)
The repetition of a series of events, like strong and weak or long and short sounds, in a 11 consistent order, creates Rhythm, which is a concept unique to Time, just as Figure is to Space. (ii. 8.)
XXXV.
XXXV.
The simplest form of Repetition is that in which there is no variety, and thus gives rise to the conception of Number. (ii. 8.)
The simplest form of Repetition is one without variety, which leads to the idea of Number. (ii. 8.)
XXXVI.
XXXVI.
The simplest numerical truths are seen by Intuition; when we endeavour to deduce the more complex from these simplest, we employ such maxims as these:—If equals be added to equals the wholes are equal:—If equals be subtracted from equals the remainders are equal:—The whole is equal to the sum of all its parts. (ii. 9.)
The easiest numerical truths are recognized through Intuition; when we try to derive the more complex truths from these basic ones, we use guiding principles like these:—If you add equals to equals, the totals are equal:—If you subtract equals from equals, the results are equal:—The whole is equal to the sum of all its parts. (ii. 9.)
XXXVII.
XXXVII.
The Perception of Time involves a constant and latent kind of memory, which may be termed a Sense of Succession. The Perception of Number also involves this Sense of Succession, although in small numbers we appear to apprehend the units simultaneously and not successively. (ii. 10.)
The perception of time involves an ongoing and hidden type of memory, which can be called a sense of succession. The perception of numbers also relies on this sense of succession, although with small numbers, we seem to understand the units at the same time rather than one after another. (ii. 10.)
XXXVIII.
XXXVIII.
The Perception of Rhythm is not an impression on the passive sense, but requires an act of thought by which we connect and group the strokes which form the Rhythm. (ii. 10.)
The perception of rhythm isn't just a passive experience; it requires a conscious effort to connect and group the beats that create the rhythm. (ii. 10.)
XXXIX.
XXXIX.
Intuitive is opposed to Discursive reason. In intuition, we obtain our conclusions by dwelling upon one aspect of the fundamental Idea; in discursive reasoning, we combine several aspects of the Idea, (that is, several axioms,) and reason from the combination. (ii. 11.)
Intuitive is opposed to discursive reason. In intuition, we reach our conclusions by focusing on one aspect of the fundamental idea; in discursive reasoning, we combine multiple aspects of the idea, (that is, several axioms,) and reason based on that combination. (ii. 11.)
XL.
XL.
Geometrical deduction (and deduction in general) is called Synthesis, because we introduce, at successive steps, the 12 results of new principles. But in reasoning on the relations of space, we sometimes go on separating truths into their component truths, and these into other component truths; and so on: and this is geometrical Analysis. (ii. 11.)
Geometrical deduction (and deduction in general) is called Synthesis, because we introduce, at successive steps, the 12 results of new principles. However, when we're reasoning about the relationships of space, we sometimes break down truths into their component truths, and these into other component truths; and so on: and this process is known as geometrical Analysis. (ii. 11.)
XLI.
XLI.
Among the foundations of the Higher Mathematics, is the Idea of Symbols considered as general Signs of Quantity. This idea of a Sign is distinct from, and independent of other ideas. The Axiom to which we refer in reasoning by means of Symbols of quantity is this:—The interpretation of such symbols must be perfectly general. This Idea and Axiom are the bases of Algebra in its most general form. (ii. 12.)
One of the foundations of Higher Mathematics is the concept of Symbols as general Signs of Quantity. This concept of a Sign is distinct from, and independent of other concepts. The Axiom we refer to when reasoning with Symbols of quantity is this:—The interpretation of such symbols must be completely general. This concept and Axiom are the foundations of Algebra in its most general form. (ii. 12.)
XLII.
XLII.
Among the foundations of the Higher Mathematics is also the Idea of a Limit. The Idea of a Limit cannot be superseded by any other definitions or Hypotheses, The Axiom which we employ in introducing this Idea into our reasoning is this:—What is true up to the Limit is true at the Limit. This Idea and Axiom are the bases of all Methods of Limits, Fluxions, Differentials, Variations, and the like. (ii. 12.)
Among the foundations of Higher Mathematics is the concept of a Limit. The concept of a Limit cannot be replaced by any other definitions or hypotheses. The axiom we use to introduce this concept into our reasoning is this:—What is true up to the Limit is true at the Limit. This concept and axiom are the foundations of all Methods of Limits, Fluxions, Differentials, Variations, and similar topics. (ii. 12.)
XLIII.
XLIII.
There is a pure Science of Motion, which does not depend upon observed facts, but upon the Idea of motion. It may also be termed Pure Mechanism, in opposition to Mechanics Proper, or Machinery, which involves the mechanical conceptions of force and matter. It has been proposed to name this Pure Science of Motion, Kinematics. (ii. 13.)
There is a pure Science of Motion that doesn't rely on observed facts but on the concept of motion. It can also be called Pure Mechanism, as opposed to Mechanics Proper, or Machinery, which involves the mechanical ideas of force and matter. It has been suggested to name this Pure Science of Motion, Kinematics. (ii. 13.)
XLIV.
XLIV.
The pure Mathematical Sciences must be successfully cultivated, in order that the progress of the principal Inductive Sciences may take place. This appears in the case of Astronomy, in which Science, both in ancient and in modern times, each advance of the theory has depended upon the 13 previous solution of problems in pure mathematics. It appears also inversely in the Science of the Tides, in which, at present, we cannot advance in the theory, because we cannot solve the requisite problems in the Integral Calculus. (ii. 14.)
The pure Mathematical Sciences need to be effectively developed for the progress of the main Inductive Sciences to happen. This is evident in Astronomy, where, throughout both ancient and modern times, each advance in theory has relied on the 13 previous resolution of problems in pure mathematics. It is also seen in the Science of the Tides, where currently we cannot advance in theory because we are unable to solve the necessary problems in Integral Calculus. (ii. 14.)
XLV.
XLV.
The Idea of Cause, modified into the conceptions of mechanical cause, or Force, and resistance to force, or Matter, is the foundation of the Mechanical Sciences; that is, Mechanics, (including Statics and Dynamics,) Hydrostatics, and Physical Astronomy. (iii. 1.)
The idea of cause, revised into the concepts of mechanical cause, or Force, and resistance to force, or Matter, serves as the basis of the Mechanical Sciences; that is, Mechanics, (which includes Statics and Dynamics,) Hydrostatics, and Physical Astronomy. (iii. 1.)
XLVI.
XLVI.
The Idea of Cause is not derived from experience; for in judging of occurrences which we contemplate, we consider them as being, universally and necessarily, Causes and Effects, which a finite experience could not authorize us to do. The Axiom, that every event must have a cause, is true independently of experience, and beyond the limits of experience. (iii. 2.)
The concept of cause isn't based on experience; when we think about events, we see them as inherently Causes and Effects, which a limited experience can't allow us to claim. The principle that every event must have a cause is true regardless of experience and extends beyond what we can experience. (iii. 2.)
XLVII.
XLVII.
The Idea of Cause is expressed for purposes of science by these three Axioms:—Every Event must have a Cause:—Causes are measured by their Effects:—Reaction is equal and opposite to Action. (iii. 4.)
The idea of cause is defined for scientific purposes by these three axioms:—Every event has to have a cause:—Causes are assessed based on their effects:—Reaction is equal and opposite to action. (iii. 4.)
XLVIII.
XLVIII.
The Conception of Force involves the Idea of Cause, as applied to the motion and rest of bodies. The conception of force is suggested by muscular action exerted: the conception of matter arises from muscular action resisted. We necessarily ascribe to all bodies solidity and inertia, since we conceive Matter as that which cannot be compressed or moved without resistance. (iii. 5.)
The concept of force includes the idea of cause in relation to the motion and rest of objects. The idea of force comes from the action of muscles being used: the idea of matter comes from the action of muscles being resisted. We naturally assume that all objects have solidity and inertia, because we think of matter as something that cannot be compressed or moved without resistance. (iii. 5.)
XLIX.
XLIX.
Mechanical Science depends on the Conception of Force; and is divided into Statics, the doctrine of Force preventing 14 motion, and Dynamics, the doctrine of Force producing motion. (iii. 6.)
Mechanical Science is based on the idea of Force; and is divided into Statics, which is the study of Force preventing 14 motion, and Dynamics, which is the study of Force causing motion. (iii. 6.)
L.
L.
The Science of Statics depends upon the Axiom, that Action and Reaction are equal, which in Statics assumes this form:—When two equal weights are supported on the middle point between them, the pressure on the fulcrum is equal to the sum of the weights. (iii. 6.)
The Science of Statics is based on the principle that action and reaction are equal, which in Statics takes this form:—When two equal weights are supported at the midpoint between them, the pressure on the fulcrum is equal to the total of the weights. (iii. 6.)
LI.
LI.
The Science of Hydrostatics depends upon the Fundamental Principle that fluids press equally in all directions. This principle necessarily results from the conception of a Fluid, as a body of which the parts are perfectly moveable in all directions. For since the Fluid is a body, it can transmit pressure; and the transmitted pressure is equal to the original pressure, in virtue of the Axiom that Reaction is equal to Action. That the Fundamental Principle is not derived from experience, is plain both from its evidence and from its history. (iii. 6.)
The science of hydrostatics is based on the fundamental principle that fluids exert pressure equally in all directions. This principle naturally follows from the idea of a fluid as a substance where the parts can move freely in any direction. Since a fluid is a substance, it can transmit pressure, and the pressure transmitted is equal to the original pressure, in accordance with the axiom that reaction is equal to action. It's evident from both its clarity and its historical context that the fundamental principle isn't derived from experience. (iii. 6.)
LII.
LII.
The Science of Dynamics depends upon the three Axioms above stated respecting Cause. The First Axiom,—that every change must have a Cause,—gives rise to the First Law of Motion,—that a body not acted upon by a force will move with a uniform velocity in a straight line. The Second Axiom,—that Causes are measured by their Effects,—gives rise to the Second Law of Motion,—that when a force acts upon a body in motion, the effect of the force is compounded with the previously existing motion. The Third Axiom,—that Reaction is equal and opposite to Action,—gives rise to the Third Law of Motion, which is expressed in the same terms as the Axiom; Action and Reaction being understood to signify momentum gained and lost. (iii. 7.) 15
The Science of Dynamics is based on the three Axioms mentioned above regarding Cause. The First Axiom—that every change must have a Cause—leads to the First Law of Motion: that a body not influenced by a force will move at a constant speed in a straight line. The Second Axiom—that Causes are measured by their Effects—leads to the Second Law of Motion: that when a force acts on a moving body, the effect of the force combines with the motion that was already there. The Third Axiom—that Reaction is equal and opposite to Action—leads to the Third Law of Motion, which is stated in the same terms as the Axiom; Action and Reaction are understood to mean momentum gained and lost. (iii. 7.) 15
LIII.
LIII.
The above Laws of Motion, historically speaking, were established by means of experiment: but since they have been discovered and reduced to their simplest form, they have been considered by many philosophers as self-evident. This result is principally due to the introduction and establishment of terms and definitions, which enable us to express the Laws in a very simple manner. (iii. 7.)
The Laws of Motion mentioned above were developed through experimentation. However, now that they’ve been discovered and simplified, many philosophers see them as obvious truths. This perception largely comes from the introduction and solidification of terms and definitions that allow us to articulate the Laws in a straightforward way. (iii. 7.)
LIV.
LIV.
In the establishment of the Laws of Motion, it happened, in several instances, that Principles were assumed as self-evident which do not now appear evident, but which have since been demonstrated from the simplest and most evident principles. Thus it was assumed that a perpetual motion is impossible;—that the velocities of bodies acquired by falling down planes or curves of the same vertical height are equal;—that the actual descent of the center of gravity is equal to its potential ascent. But we are not hence to suppose that these assumptions were made without ground: for since they really follow from the laws of motion, they were probably, in the minds of the discoverers, the results of undeveloped demonstrations which their sagacity led them to divine. (iii. 7.)
In establishing the Laws of Motion, there were several instances where principles were taken as obvious that don't seem obvious today, but have since been proven based on the simplest and most clear principles. For example, it was assumed that perpetual motion is impossible;—that the speeds of objects falling down ramps or curves with the same vertical height are equal;—that the actual descent of the center of gravity is equal to its potential ascent. However, we should not think that these assumptions were made without reason: since they genuinely follow from the laws of motion, the discoverers likely viewed them as the outcomes of undeveloped demonstrations that their insight led them to foresee. (iii. 7.)
LV.
LV.
It is a Paradox that Experience should lead us to truths confessedly universal, and apparently necessary, such as the Laws of Motion are. The Solution of this paradox is, that these laws are interpretations of the Axioms of Causation. The axioms are universally and necessarily true, but the right interpretation of the terms which they involve, is learnt by experience. Our Idea of Cause supplies the Form, Experience, the Matter, of these Laws. (iii. 8.)
It's a paradox that experience can lead us to truths that are universally acknowledged and seemingly essential, like the laws of motion. The solution to this paradox is that these laws are interpretations of the axioms of causation. The axioms are universally and necessarily true, but the correct interpretation of the terms they involve is learned through experience. Our idea of cause provides the form, while experience provides the matter for these laws. (iii. 8.)
LVI.
LVI.
Primary Qualities of Bodies are those which we can conceive as directly perceived; Secondary Qualities are those 16 which we conceive as perceived by means of a Medium. (iv. 1.)
Primary qualities of bodies are those we can imagine as being directly perceived; secondary qualities are those 16 that we think of as being perceived through a medium. (iv. 1.)
LVII.
LVII.
We necessarily perceive bodies as without us; the Idea of Externality is one of the conditions of perception. (iv. 1.)
We inevitably see bodies as separate from us; the concept of externality is one of the basic aspects of perception. (iv. 1.)
LVIII.
LVIII.
We necessarily assume a Medium for the perceptions of Light, Colour, Sound, Heat, Odours, Tastes; and this Medium must convey impressions by means of its mechanical attributes. (iv. 1.)
We must assume a Medium for the perceptions of Light, Color, Sound, Heat, Smells, Tastes; and this Medium must convey impressions through its mechanical properties. (iv. 1.)
LIX.
LIX.
Secondary Qualities are not extended but intensive: their effects are not augmented by addition of parts, but by increased operation of the medium. Hence they are not measured directly, but by scales; not by units, but by degrees. (iv. 4.)
Secondary qualities aren't extensive but intensive: their effects don't get stronger with more parts, but with the increased activity of the medium. So, they're not measured directly, but by scales; not by units, but by degrees. (iv. 4.)
LX.
LX.
In the Scales of Secondary Qualities, it is a condition (in order that the scale may be complete,) that every example of the quality must either agree with one of the degrees of the Scale, or lie between two contiguous degrees. (iv. 4.)
In the Scales of Secondary Qualities, it's a requirement (so that the scale can be comprehensive,) that every instance of the quality must either match one of the degrees of the Scale, or fall in between two adjacent degrees. (iv. 4.)
LXI.
LXI.
We perceive by means of a medium and by means of impressions on the nerves: but we do not (by our senses) perceive either the medium or the impressions on the nerves. (iv. 1.)
We perceive through a medium and through impressions on our nerves: but we do not (with our senses) perceive either the medium or the impressions on our nerves. (iv. 1.)
LXII.
LXII.
The Prerogatives of the Sight are, that by this sense we necessarily and immediately apprehend the position of its objects: and that from visible circumstances, we infer the distance of objects from us, so readily that we seem to perceive and not to infer. (iv. 2.) 17
The Prerogatives of the Sight are that with this sense we automatically and directly understand the position of what we see: and from visible details, we deduce the distance to objects from us so easily that it feels like we are perceiving rather than inferring. (iv. 2.) 17
LXIII.
LXIII.
The Prerogatives of the Hearing are, that by this sense we perceive relations perfectly precise and definite between two notes, namely, Musical Intervals (as an Octave, a Fifth); and that when two notes are perceived together, they are comprehended as distinct, (a Chord,) and as having a certain relation, (Concord or Discord.) (iv. 2.)
The Prerogatives of Hearing are that through this sense we can clearly and precisely understand the relationship between two notes, specifically Musical Intervals (like an Octave, a Fifth); and when two notes are heard together, we recognize them as distinct, (a Chord,) and acknowledge their specific relationship, (Concord or Discord.) (iv. 2.)
LXIV.
LXIV.
The Sight cannot decompose a compound colour into simple colours, or distinguish a compound from a simple colour. The Hearing cannot directly perceive the place, still less the distance, of its objects: we infer these obscurely and vaguely from audible circumstances. (iv. 2.)
The eye can't break down a mixed color into basic colors or tell a complex color from a simple one. The ear can't directly sense the location, and even less the distance, of what it hears: we figure these out in a blurry and vague way from what we can hear. (iv. 2.)
LXV.
LXV.
The First Paradox of Vision is, that we see objects upright, though the images on the retina are inverted. The solution is, that we do not see the image on the retina at all, we only see by means of it. (iv. 2.)
The First Paradox of Vision is that we see objects upright, even though the images on the retina are inverted. The solution is that we don’t actually see the image on the retina at all; we only see with its help. (iv. 2.)
LXVI.
LXVI.
The Second Paradox of Vision is, that we see objects single, though there are two images on the retinas, one in each eye. The explanation is, that it is a Law of Vision that we see (small or distant) objects single, when their images fall on corresponding points of the two retinas. (iv. 2.)
The Second Paradox of Vision is that we see objects as one, even though there are two images on the retinas, one in each eye. The explanation is that it is a Law of Vision (for small or distant) objects to appear single when their images fall on corresponding points of the two retinas. (iv. 2.)
LXVII.
LXVII.
The law of single vision for near objects is this:—When the two images in the two eyes are situated, part for part, nearly but not exactly, upon corresponding points, the object is apprehended as single and solid if the two objects are such as would be produced by a single solid object seen by the eyes separately. (iv. 2.)
The law of single vision for near objects is this:—When the two images in the two eyes are positioned, part for part, almost but not completely, on corresponding points, the object is perceived as single and solid if the two images represent what would come from a single solid object viewed by each eye separately. (iv. 2.)
LXVIII.
LXVIII.
The ultimate object of each of the Secondary Mechanical Sciences is, to determine the nature and laws of the processes 18 by which the impression of the Secondary Quality treated of is conveyed: but before we discover the cause, it may be necessary to determine the laws of the phenomena; and for this purpose a Measure or Scale of each quality is necessary. (iv. 4.)
The main goal of each of the Secondary Mechanical Sciences is to figure out the nature and rules of the processes 18 that convey the impression of the Secondary Quality being discussed: but before we find the cause, it might be necessary to determine the laws of the phenomena; and for this, a Measure or Scale for each quality is needed. (iv. 4.)
LXIX.
LXIX.
Secondary qualities are measured by means of such effects as can be estimated in number or space. (iv. 4.)
Secondary qualities are measured by effects that can be quantified in numbers or space. (iv. 4.)
LXX.
LXX.
The Measure of Sounds, as high or low, is the Musical Scale, or Harmonic Canon. (iv. 4.)
The Measure of Sounds, whether high or low, is the Musical Scale, or Harmonic Canon. (iv. 4.)
LXXI.
LXXI.
The Measures of Pure Colours are the Prismatic Scale; the same, including Fraunhofer’s Lines; and Newton’s Scale of Colours. The principal Scales of Impure Colours are Werner’s Nomenclature of Colours, and Merimée’s Nomenclature of Colours. (iv. 4.)
The Measures of Pure Colors are the Prismatic Scale; the same, including Fraunhofer’s Lines; and Newton’s Scale of Colors. The main Scales of Impure Colors are Werner’s Nomenclature of Colors, and Merimée’s Nomenclature of Colors. (iv. 4.)
LXXII.
LXXII.
The Idea of Polarity involves the conception of contrary properties in contrary directions:—the properties being, for example, attraction and repulsion, darkness and light, synthesis and analysis; and the contrary directions being those which are directly opposite, or, in some cases, those which are at right angles. (v. 1.)
The Idea of Polarity involves the notion of opposing properties in opposite directions: for example, attraction and repulsion, darkness and light, synthesis and analysis; and the opposite directions are either directly opposite or, in some cases, at right angles to each other. (v. 1.)
LXXIII. (Doubtful.)
LXXIII. (Uncertain.)
Coexistent polarities are fundamentally identical. (v. 2.)
Coexisting polarities are fundamentally the same. (v. 2.)
LXXIV.
LXXIV.
The Idea of Chemical Affinity, as implied in Elementary Composition, involves peculiar conceptions. It is not properly expressed by assuming the qualities of bodies to resemble those of the elements, or to depend on the figure of the elements, or on their attractions. (vi. 1.) 19
The Idea of Chemical Affinity, as explained in Elementary Composition, involves unique concepts. It's not accurately conveyed by assuming that the qualities of substances resemble those of the elements, or that they depend on the shape of the elements, or on their attractions. (vi. 1.) 19
LXXV.
LXXV.
Attractions take place between bodies, Affinities between the particles of a body. The former may be compared to the alliances of states, the latter to the ties of family. (vi. 2.)
Attractions happen between bodies, while affinities occur among the particles of a body. The former can be likened to alliances between states, and the latter to family bonds. (vi. 2.)
LXXVI.
LXXVI.
The governing principles of Chemical Affinity are, that it is elective; that it is definite; that it determines the properties of the compound; and that analysis is possible. (vi. 2.)
The main principles of Chemical Affinity are that it is chosen; that it is specific; that it dictates the properties of the compound; and that analysis can be performed. (vi. 2.)
LXXVII.
LXXVII.
We have an idea of Substance: and an axiom involved in this Idea is, that the weight of a body is the sum of the weights of all its elements. (vi. 3.)
We have a concept of Substance: and one basic principle related to this concept is that the weight of an object is the total of the weights of all its components. (vi. 3.)
LXXVIII.
LXXVIII.
Hence Imponderable Fluids are not to be admitted as chemical elements. (vi. 4.)
Therefore, Imponderable Fluids should not be considered as chemical elements. (vi. 4.)
LXXIX.
LXXIX.
The Doctrine of Atoms is admissible as a mode of expressing and calculating laws of nature; but is not proved by any fact, chemical or physical, as a philosophical truth. (vi. 5.)
The theory of atoms is acceptable as a way to express and calculate the laws of nature; however, it hasn't been proven by any chemical or physical fact as a philosophical truth. (vi. 5.)
LXXX.
LXXX.
We have an Idea of Symmetry; and an axiom involved in this Idea is, that in a symmetrical natural body, if there be a tendency to modify any member in any manner, there is a tendency to modify all the corresponding members in the same manner. (vii. 1.)
We have a concept of symmetry; and a principle related to this concept is that in a symmetrical natural form, if there's a tendency to change any part in any way, there's also a tendency to change all the corresponding parts in the same way. (vii. 1.)
LXXXI.
LXXXI.
All hypotheses respecting the manner in which the elements of inorganic bodies are arranged in space, must be constructed with regard to the general facts of crystallization. (vii. 3.) 20
All theories about how the elements of inorganic substances are organized in space must be based on the overall facts of crystallization. (vii. 3.) 20
LXXXII.
L82.
When we consider any object as One, we give unity to it by an act of thought. The condition which determines what this unity shall include, and what it shall exclude, is this;—that assertions concerning the one thing shall be possible. (viii. 1.)
When we think of any object as One, we create unity for it through our thoughts. The factor that decides what this unity will contain and what it will leave out is this:—that statements about the one thing must be possible. (viii. 1.)
LXXXIII.
LXXXIII.
We collect individuals into Kinds by applying to them the Idea of Likeness. Kinds of things are not determined by definitions, but by this condition:—that general assertions concerning such kinds of things shall be possible. (viii. 1.)
We group people into Kinds by using the concept of similarity. The types of things aren't defined by strict definitions, but by this requirement:—that general statements about these types of things can be made. (viii. 1.)
LXXXIV.
LXXXIV.
The Names of kinds of things are governed by their use; and that may be a right name in one use which is not so in another. A whale is not a fish in natural history, but it is a fish in commerce and law. (viii. 1.)
The Names of different things depend on how they're used; what works as a name in one context may not work in another. A whale isn't considered a fish in biological terms, but it is seen as a fish in trade and legal contexts. (viii. 1.)
LXXXV.
LXXXV.
We take for granted that each kind of things has a special character which may be expressed by a Definition. The ground of our assumption is this;—that reasoning must be possible. (viii. 1.)
We assume that every type of thing has a unique character that can be described by a Definition. The basis for our assumption is this;—that reasoning has to be possible. (viii. 1.)
LXXXVI.
L86.
The “Five Words,” Genus, Species, Difference, Property, Accident, were used by the Aristotelians, in order to express the subordination of Kinds, and to describe the nature of Definitions and Propositions. In modern times, these technical expressions have been more referred to by Natural Historians than by Metaphysicians. (viii. 1.)
The “Five Words,” Genus, Species, Difference, Property, Accident, were used by Aristotelians to express the hierarchy of Kinds and to describe the nature of Definitions and Propositions. Nowadays, these technical terms are more commonly referenced by Natural Historians than by Metaphysicians. (viii. 1.)
LXXXVII.
LXXXVII.
The construction of a Classificatory Science includes Terminology, the formation of a descriptive language;—Diataxis, the Plan of the System of Classification, called 21 also the Systematick;—Diagnosis, the Scheme of the Characters by which the different Classes are known, called also the Characteristick. Physiography is the knowledge which the System is employed to convey. Diataxis includes Nomenclature. (viii. 2.)
The construction of a Classificatory Science includes Terminology, the creation of a descriptive language;—Diataxis, the Plan of the Classification System, also called 21 the Systematic;—Diagnosis, the Scheme of the Characteristics that differentiate the various Classes, also known as the Characteristic. Physiography is the knowledge that the System is used to convey. Diataxis includes Nomenclature. (viii. 2.)
LXXXVIII.
88.
Terminology must be conventional, precise, constant; copious in words, and minute in distinctions, according to the needs of the science. The student must understand the terms, directly according to the convention, not through the medium of explanation or comparison. (viii. 2.)
Terminology has to be standard, clear, consistent; abundant in vocabulary, and detailed in distinctions, based on the requirements of the field. The student must grasp the terms directly as per the standard, not through explanations or comparisons. (viii. 2.)
LXXXIX.
L89.
The Diataxis, or Plan of the System, may aim at a Natural or at an Artificial System. But no classes can be absolutely artificial, for if they were, no assertions could be made concerning them. (viii. 2.)
The Diataxis, or Plan of the System, can aim for a Natural or an Artificial System. However, no classes can be entirely artificial, because if they were, no statements could be made about them. (viii. 2.)
XC.
XC.
An Artificial System is one in which the smaller groups (the Genera) are natural; and in which the wider divisions (Classes, Orders) are constructed by the peremptory application of selected Characters; (selected, however, so as not to break up the smaller groups.) (viii. 2.)
An Artificial System is one where the smaller groups (the Genera) are natural; and where the larger divisions (Classes, Orders) are created through the strict use of chosen characteristics; (chosen in a way that maintains the integrity of the smaller groups.) (viii. 2.)
XCI.
XCI.
A Natural System is one which attempts to make all the divisions natural, the widest as well as the narrowest; and therefore applies no characters peremptorily. (viii. 2.)
A Natural System is one that tries to make all the divisions natural, both the broadest and the most specific; and therefore applies no traits strictly. (viii. 2.)
XCII.
92.
Natural Groups are best described, not by any Definition which marks their boundaries, but by a Type which marks their center. The Type of any natural group is an example which possesses in a marked degree all the leading characters of the class. (viii. 2.) 22
Natural groups are best described, not by any definition that defines their limits, but by a type that highlights their core. The type of any natural group is an example that strongly exhibits all the main characteristics of the class. (viii. 2.) 22
XCIII.
XCIII.
A Natural Group is steadily fixed, though not precisely limited; it is given in position, though not circumscribed; it is determined, not by a boundary without, but by a central point within;—not by what it strictly excludes, but by what it eminently includes;—by a Type, not by a Definition. (viii. 2.)
A Natural Group is consistently established, though not exactly defined; it is positioned, though not restricted; it is defined not by an outer boundary, but by a central point within;—not by what it specifically excludes, but by what it prominently includes;—by a Type, not by a Definition. (viii. 2.)
XCIV.
XCIV.
The prevalence of Mathematics as an element of education has made us think Definition the philosophical mode of fixing the meaning of a word: if (Scientific) Natural History were introduced into education, men might become familiar with the fixation of the signification of words by Types; and this process agrees more nearly with the common processes by which words acquire their significations. (viii. 2.)
The importance of Mathematics in education has led us to consider the philosophical way of defining a word's meaning: if (Scientific) Natural History were included in education, people might become more familiar with how words get their meanings from Types; and this method aligns more closely with the usual ways in which words develop their meanings. (viii. 2.)
XCV.
XCV.
The attempts at Natural Classification are of three sorts; according as they are made by the process of blind trial, of general comparison, or of subordination of characters. The process of Blind Trial professes to make its classes by attention to all the characters, but without proceeding methodically. The process of General Comparison professes to enumerate all the characters, and forms its classes by the majority. Neither of these methods can really be carried into effect. The method of Subordination of Characters considers some characters as more important than others; and this method gives more consistent results than the others. This method, however, does not depend upon the Idea of Likeness only, but introduces the Idea of Organization or Function. (viii. 2.)
The attempts at Natural Classification fall into three categories: those made through blind trial, general comparison, or subordination of characters. The Blind Trial method tries to create classes by observing all the characteristics without a systematic approach. The General Comparison method aims to list all the characteristics and forms classes based on the majority. Neither of these methods can truly be applied effectively. The Subordination of Characters method considers some characteristics as more important than others; and this approach yields more consistent results than the others. However, this method doesn't rely solely on the idea of similarity; it also incorporates the idea of organization or function. (viii. 2.)
XCVI.
XCVI.
A Species is a collection of individuals, which are descended from a common stock, or which resemble such a collection as much as these resemble each other: the resemblance being opposed to a definite difference. (viii. 2.) 23
A Species is a group of individuals that come from a common ancestry, or that look similar to a group that resembles one another: the similarity being contrasted with a definite difference. (viii. 2.) 23
XCVII.
XCVII.
A Genus is a collection of species which resemble each other more than they resemble other species: the resemblance being opposed to a definite difference. (viii. 2.)
A Genus is a group of species that look more alike than they look like species outside of the group: the similarity being contrasted with a definite difference. (viii. 2.)
XCVIII.
XCVIII.
The Nomenclature of a Classificatory Science is the collection of the names of the Species, Genera, and other divisions. The binary nomenclature, which denotes a species by the generic and specific name, is now commonly adopted in Natural History. (viii. 2.)
The Nomenclature of a Classificatory Science is the collection of the names of the Species, Genera, and other divisions. The binary nomenclature, which identifies a species by the generic and specific name, is now widely used in Natural History. (viii. 2.)
XCIX.
XCIX.
The Diagnosis, or Scheme of the Characters, comes, in the order of philosophy, after the Classification. The characters do not make the classes, they only enable us to recognize them. The Diagnosis is an Artificial Key to a Natural System. (viii. 2.)
The Diagnosis, or Scheme of the Characters, comes, in the order of philosophy, after the Classification. The characters do not make the classes, they only help us to recognize them. The Diagnosis is an Artificial Key to a Natural System. (viii. 2.)
C.
C.
The basis of all Natural Systems of Classification is the Idea of Natural Affinity. The Principle which this Idea involves is this:—Natural arrangements, obtained from different sets of characters, must coincide with each other. (viii. 4.)
The foundation of all Natural Systems of Classification is the concept of Natural Affinity. The principle that this concept entails is this:—Natural arrangements, derived from different sets of characteristics, must align with one another. (viii. 4.)
CI.
CI.
In order to obtain a Science of Biology, we must analyse the Idea of Life. It has been proved by the biological speculations of past time, that Organic Life cannot rightly be solved into Mechanical or Chemical Forces, or the operation of a Vital Fluid, or of a Soul. (ix. 2.)
To develop a Science of Biology, we need to examine the concept of Life. The biological theories from the past have shown that Organic Life cannot be accurately explained by Mechanical or Chemical Forces, the function of a Vital Fluid, or the existence of a Soul. (ix. 2.)
CII.
CII.
Life is a System of Vital Forces; and the conception of such Forces involves a peculiar Fundamental Idea. (ix. 3.) 24
Life is a system of vital energies, and understanding these energies involves a unique fundamental concept. (ix. 3.) 24
CIII.
CIII.
Mechanical, chemical, and vital Forces form an ascending progression, each including the preceding. Chemical Affinity includes in its nature Mechanical Force, and may often be practically resolved into Mechanical Force. (Thus the ingredients of gunpowder, liberated from their chemical union, exert great mechanical Force: a galvanic battery acting by chemical process does the like.) Vital Forces include in their nature both chemical Affinities and mechanical Forces: for Vital Powers produce both chemical changes, (as digestion,) and motions which imply considerable mechanical force, (as the motion of the sap and of the blood.) (ix. 4.)
Mechanical, chemical, and vital forces form a hierarchy, each encompassing the one before it. Chemical affinity includes mechanical force in its essence and can often be effectively reduced to mechanical force. (For example, the ingredients of gunpowder, when freed from their chemical bonds, produce significant mechanical force: a galvanic battery operates similarly through chemical processes.) Vital forces inherently encompass both chemical affinities and mechanical forces: vital powers cause both chemical changes, (like digestion,) and motions that require substantial mechanical force, (like the movement of sap and blood.) (ix. 4.)
CIV.
CIV.
In voluntary motions, Sensations produce Actions, and the connexion is made by means of Ideas: in reflected motions, the connexion neither seems to be nor is made by means of Ideas: in instinctive motions, the connexion is such as requires Ideas, but we cannot believe the Ideas to exist. (ix. 5.)
In voluntary movements, sensations lead to actions, and the connection is established through ideas: in reflex movements, the connection doesn't appear to be or actually is established through ideas: in instinctive movements, the connection is such that it requires ideas, but we can't believe those ideas really exist. (ix. 5.)
CV.
Resume.
The Assumption of a Final Cause in the structure of each part of animals and plants is as inevitable as the assumption of an Efficient Cause for every event. The maxim that in organized bodies nothing is in vain, is as necessarily true as the maxim that nothing happens by chance. (ix. 6.)
The assumption of a final cause in the structure of every part of animals and plants is as unavoidable as the belief in an efficient cause for every event. The principle that in organized bodies nothing is in vain, is as undeniably true as the principle that nothing happens by chance. (ix. 6.)
CVI.
CVI.
The Idea of living beings as subject to disease includes a recognition of a Final Cause in organization; for disease is a state in which the vital forces do not attain their proper ends. (ix. 7.)
The concept of living beings being affected by disease acknowledges a purpose behind their organization; because disease is a condition where the vital forces fail to reach their intended goals. (ix. 7.)
CVII.
CVII.
The Palætiological Sciences depend upon the Idea of Cause: but the leading conception which they involve is that of historical cause, not mechanical cause. (x. 1.) 25
The Paleontological Sciences rely on the concept of Cause: however, the main idea they involve is that of historical cause, not mechanical cause. (x. 1.) 25
CVIII.
CVIII.
Each Palætiological Science, when complete, must possess three members: the Phenomenology, the Ætiology, and the Theory. (x. 2.)
Every Palætiological Science, when fully developed, must have three components: the Phenomenology, the Ætiology, and the Theory. (x. 2.)
CIX.
CIX.
There are, in the Palætiological Sciences, two antagonist doctrines: Catastrophes and Uniformity. The doctrine of a uniform course of nature is tenable only when we extend the nation of Uniformity so far that it shall include Catastrophes. (x. 3.)
In the field of Paleontological Sciences, there are two opposing theories: Catastrophes and Uniformity. The theory of a consistent natural order only holds up if we broaden the concept of Uniformity to encompass Catastrophes. (x. 3.)
CX.
CX.
The Catastrophist constructs Theories, the Uniformitarian demolishes them. The former adduces evidence of an Origin, the latter explains the evidence away. The Catastrophist’s dogmatism is undermined by the Uniformitarian’s skeptical hypotheses. But when these hypotheses are asserted dogmatically they cease to be consistent with the doctrine of Uniformity. (x. 3.)
The Catastrophist creates theories, while the Uniformitarian breaks them down. The former presents evidence of an origin, and the latter finds ways to dismiss that evidence. The Catastrophist’s strong beliefs are challenged by the Uniformitarian’s questioning ideas. However, when these ideas are held too rigidly, they no longer align with the principle of Uniformity. (x. 3.)
CXI.
CXI.
In each of the Palætiological Sciences, we can ascend to remote periods by a chain of causes, but in none can we ascend to a beginning of the chain. (x. 3.)
In each of the Palætiological Sciences, we can trace back to remote periods through a series of causes, but in none can we trace back to a beginning of the chain. (x. 3.)
CXII.
CXII.
Since the Palætiological sciences deal with the conceptions of historical cause, History, including Tradition, is an important source of materials for such sciences. (x. 4.)
Since the paleontological sciences focus on understanding historical causes, history, including tradition, is a crucial source of materials for these sciences. (x. 4.)
CXIII.
CXIII.
The history and tradition which present to us the providential course of the world form a Sacred Narrative; and in reconciling the Sacred Narrative with the results of science, arise inevitable difficulties which disturb the minds of those who reverence the Sacred Narrative. (x. 4.) 26
The history and tradition that show us the fortunate path of the world make up a Sacred Narrative; and when we try to align the Sacred Narrative with scientific findings, we encounter unavoidable challenges that trouble the minds of those who hold the Sacred Narrative in high regard. (x. 4.) 26
CXIV.
CXIV.
The disturbance of reverent minds, arising from scientific views, ceases when such views become familiar, the Sacred Narrative being then interpreted anew in accordance with such views. (x. 4.)
The disruption of respectful minds caused by scientific perspectives fades away once those perspectives become familiar, and the Sacred Narrative is then reinterpreted in line with those views. (x. 4.)
CXV.
CXV.
A new interpretation of the Sacred Narrative, made for the purpose of reconciling it with doctrines of science, should not be insisted on till such doctrines are clearly proved; and when they are so proved, should be frankly accepted, in the confidence that a reverence for the Sacred Narrative is consistent with a reverence for the Truth. (x. 4.)
A fresh take on the Sacred Narrative, aimed at aligning it with scientific doctrines, shouldn't be pushed until those doctrines are clearly established; and once they are, they should be openly accepted, trusting that respecting the Sacred Narrative goes hand in hand with respecting the Truth. (x. 4.)
CXVI.
CXVI.
In contemplating the series of causes and effects which constitutes the world, we necessarily assume a First Cause of the whole series. (x. 5.)
When thinking about the chain of causes and effects that make up the world, we inevitably assume a First Cause of the entire chain. (x. 5.)
CXVII.
CXVII.
The Palætiological Sciences point backwards with lines which are broken, but which all converge to the same invisible point: and this point is the Origin of the Moral and Spiritual, as well as of the Natural World. (x. 5.)
The palætiological sciences look back with lines that are broken, yet all come together at the same invisible point: and this point is the origin of the moral and spiritual, as well as the natural world. (x. 5.)
NOVUM ORGANON RENOVATUM.
New Organon Renovated.
BOOK II.
OF THE CONSTRUCTION OF SCIENCE.
BUILDING SCIENCE.
CHAPTER I.
Of the two main processes through which science is developed.
Aphorism I.
Aphorism I.
THE two processes by which Science is constructed are the Explication of Conceptions, and the Colligation of Facts.
The two processes by which Science is built are the Explication of Concepts, and the Colligation of Facts.
TO the subject of the present and next Book all that has preceded is subordinate and preparatory. In former works we have treated of the History of Scientific Discoveries and of the History of Scientific Ideas. We have now to attempt to describe the manner in which discoveries are made, and in which Ideas give rise to knowledge. It has already been stated that Knowledge requires us to possess both Facts and Ideas;—that every step in our knowledge consists in applying the Ideas and Conceptions furnished by our minds to the Facts which observation and experiment offer to us. When our Conceptions are clear and distinct, when our Facts are certain and sufficiently numerous, and when the Conceptions, being suited to the nature of the 28 Facts, are applied to them so as to produce an exact and universal accordance, we attain knowledge of a precise and comprehensive kind, which we may term Science. And we apply this term to our knowledge still more decidedly when, Facts being thus included in exact and general Propositions, such Propositions are, in the same manner, included with equal rigour in Propositions of a higher degree of Generality; and these again in others of a still wider nature, so as to form a large and systematic whole.
TO the topic of the current and next Book, everything that has come before is secondary and preparatory. In earlier works, we discussed the History of Scientific Discoveries and the History of Scientific Ideas. Now, we aim to describe how discoveries are made and how Ideas lead to knowledge. It has already been noted that Knowledge requires us to have both Facts and Ideas; each step in our knowledge involves applying the Ideas and Concepts provided by our minds to the Facts that observation and experimentation present to us. When our Concepts are clear and distinct, when our Facts are certain and adequately numerous, and when the Concepts, being aligned with the nature of the 28 Facts, are applied in a way that achieves an exact and universal match, we attain a precise and comprehensive form of knowledge that we can call Science. We use this term for our knowledge even more firmly when Facts are thus integrated into exact and general Statements, and these Statements are similarly included with equal rigor in Statements of a higher degree of Generality; and these, in turn, are part of others with an even broader scope, forming a large and systematic whole.
But after thus stating, in a general way, the nature of science, and the elements of which it consists, we have been examining with a more close and extensive scrutiny, some of those elements; and we must now return to our main subject, and apply to it the results of our long investigation. We have been exploring the realm of Ideas; we have been passing in review the difficulties in which the workings of our own minds involve us when we would make our conceptions consistent with themselves: and we have endeavoured to get a sight of the true solutions of these difficulties. We have now to inquire how the results of these long and laborious efforts of thought find their due place in the formation of our Knowledge. What do we gain by these attempts to make our notions distinct and consistent; and in what manner is the gain of which we thus become possessed, carried to the general treasure-house of our permanent and indestructible knowledge? After all this battling in the world of ideas, all this struggling with the shadowy and changing forms of intellectual perplexity, how do we secure to ourselves the fruits of our warfare, and assure ourselves that we have really pushed forwards the frontier of the empire of Science? It is by such an appropriation, that the task which we have had in our hands during the two previous works, (the History of the Inductive Sciences and the History of Scientific Ideas,) must acquire its real value and true place in our design.
But after giving a general overview of what science is and its main components, we have been closely and thoroughly examining some of those components; now we must return to our main topic and apply the findings from our extensive investigation. We have been exploring the realm of Ideas; we’ve been reviewing the challenges that our own minds create when we try to make our concepts consistent with each other: and we’ve tried to glimpse the true solutions to these challenges. Now we need to explore how the results of this extensive and hard work of thought fit into the building of our Knowledge. What do we gain from these efforts to clarify and make our ideas consistent; and how is this gain incorporated into the common pool of our lasting and unbreakable knowledge? After all this struggle in the world of ideas, all this wrestling with the shifting and confusing forms of intellectual challenges, how do we secure the rewards of our efforts and ensure that we have genuinely advanced the boundaries of the realm of Science? It is through such appropriation that the work we've done in the two previous volumes, (the History of the Inductive Sciences and the History of Scientific Ideas,) gains its true value and rightful place in our overall aim.
In order to do this, we must reconsider, in a more definite and precise shape, the doctrine which has already been laid down;—that our Knowledge consists 29 in applying Ideas to Facts; and that the conditions of real knowledge are that the ideas be distinct and appropriate, and exactly applied to clear and certain facts. The steps by which our knowledge is advanced are those by which one or the other of these two processes is rendered more complete;—by which Conceptions are made more clear in themselves, or by which the Conceptions more strictly bind together the Facts. These two processes may be considered as together constituting the whole formation of our knowledge; and the principles which have been established in the History of Scientific Ideas bear principally upon the former of these two operations;—upon the business of elevating our conceptions to the highest possible point of precision and generality. But these two portions of the progress of knowledge are so clearly connected with each other, that we shall deal with them in immediate succession. And having now to consider these operations in a more exact and formal manner than it was before possible to do, we shall designate them by certain constant and technical phrases. We shall speak of the two processes by which we arrive at science, as the Explication of Conceptions and the Colligation of Facts: we shall show how the discussions in which we have been engaged have been necessary in order to promote the former of these offices; and we shall endeavour to point out modes, maxims, and principles by which the second of the two tasks may also be furthered.
To do this, we need to rethink, in a clearer and more specific way, the idea we've already established: that our knowledge comes from applying ideas to facts. The conditions for true knowledge are that the ideas must be clear, relevant, and accurately applied to definite and certain facts. The way we advance our knowledge involves either improving one of these two processes—making our concepts clearer or tightening the connections between the facts. These two processes together form the foundation of our knowledge. The principles discussed in the History of Scientific Ideas mainly focus on the first operation: raising our concepts to the highest level of precision and generality. However, since these two aspects of knowledge progression are closely linked, we will address them consecutively. Now that we need to examine these operations in a more precise and formal way than before, we will use specific technical terms. We will refer to the two processes that lead us to science as the Explication of Conceptions and the Colligation of Facts: we will illustrate how our previous discussions were essential for advancing the first task, and we will strive to highlight methods, principles, and guidelines that can also support the second task.
CHAPTER II.
Of the Explanation of Concepts.
Aphorism II.
Aphorism II.
The Explication of Conceptions, as requisite for the progress of science, has been effected by means of discussions and controversies among scientists; often by debates concerning definitions; these controversies have frequently led to the establishment of a Definition; but along with the Definition, a corresponding Proposition has always been expressed or implied. The essential requisite for the advance of science is the clearness of the Conception, not the establishment of a Definition. The construction of an exact Definition is often very difficult. The requisite conditions of clear Conceptions may often be expressed by Axioms as well as by Definitions.
The explanation of ideas, which is essential for the advancement of science, has occurred through discussions and debates among scientists; often involving arguments over definitions. These debates have often resulted in the creation of a Definition; however, along with the Definition, a related Proposition has always been stated or suggested. The key requirement for the progress of science is the clarity of the Concept, not just the establishment of a Definition. Creating a precise Definition can often be very challenging. The necessary conditions for clear Concepts can sometimes be expressed by Axioms as well as by Definitions.
Aphorism III.
Aphorism 3.
Conceptions, for purposes of science, must be appropriate as well as clear: that is, they must be modifications of that Fundamental Idea, by which the phenomena can really be interpreted. This maxim may warn us from errour, though it may not lead to discovery. Discovery depends upon the previous cultivation or natural clearness of the appropriate Idea, and therefore no discovery is the work of accident.
For scientific purposes, concepts must be suitable and clear: in other words, they need to be modifications of that Fundamental Idea that genuinely allows us to interpret the phenomena. This principle can help us avoid mistakes, though it may not necessarily result in new discoveries. Discovery relies on the prior development or inherent clarity of the relevant Idea, and so no discovery happens by chance.
Sect. I.—Historical Progress of the Explication of Conceptions.
Sect. I.—The Historical Development of the Explanation of Ideas.
1. WE have given the appellation of Ideas to certain comprehensive forms of thought,—as space, number, cause, composition, resemblance,—which we apply to the phenomena which we contemplate. But the special modifications of these ideas which are 31 exemplified in particular facts, we have termed Conceptions; as a circle, a square number, an accelerating force, a neutral combination of elements, a genus. Such Conceptions involve in themselves certain necessary and universal relations derived from the Ideas just enumerated; and these relations are an indispensable portion of the texture of our knowledge. But to determine the contents and limits of this portion of our knowledge, requires an examination of the Ideas and Conceptions from which it proceeds. The Conceptions must be, as it were, carefully unfolded, so as to bring into clear view the elements of truth with which they are marked from their ideal origin. This is one of the processes by which our knowledge is extended and made more exact; and this I shall describe as the Explication of Conceptions.
1. We have called certain broad forms of thought Ideas—like space, number, cause, composition, resemblance—which we use to understand the phenomena we observe. The specific versions of these ideas that appear in particular facts are what we refer to as Conceptions; examples include a circle, a square number, an accelerating force, a neutral combination of elements, and a genus. These Conceptions carry certain necessary and universal relationships that come from the Ideas we've mentioned, and these relationships are a crucial part of our understanding. However, to clarify the content and scope of this part of our knowledge, we need to examine the Ideas and Conceptions that underpin it. The Conceptions must be carefully unfolded to reveal the elements of truth that stem from their ideal beginnings. This is one of the ways our knowledge is deepened and refined, and I will refer to this process as the Explication of Conceptions.
In the several Books of the History of Ideas we have discussed a great many of the Fundamental Ideas of the most important existing sciences. We have, in those Books, abundant exemplifications of the process now under our consideration. We shall here add a few general remarks, suggested by the survey which we have thus made.
In the various Books of the History of Ideas, we have talked about many of the Fundamental Ideas of the most important sciences that exist today. In those Books, we provide plenty of examples of the process we are currently examining. Here, we'll add a few general comments based on the overview we have presented.
2. Such discussions as those in which we have been engaged concerning our fundamental Ideas, have been the course by which, historically speaking, those Conceptions which the existing sciences involve have been rendered so clear as to be fit elements of exact knowledge. Thus, the disputes concerning the various kinds and measures of Force were an important part of the progress of the science of Mechanics. The struggles by which philosophers attained a right general conception of plane, of circular, of elliptical Polarization, were some of the most difficult steps in the modern discoveries of Optics. A Conception of the Atomic Constitution of bodies, such as shall include what we know, and assume nothing more, is even now a matter of conflict among Chemists. The debates by which, in recent times, the Conceptions of Species and Genera have been rendered more exact, have improved the science of Botany: the imperfection of the science of 32 Mineralogy arises in a great measure from the circumstance, that in that subject, the Conception of a Species is not yet fixed. In Physiology, what a vast advance would that philosopher make, who should establish a precise, tenable, and consistent Conception of Life!
2. The discussions we've been having about our fundamental ideas have historically clarified the concepts involved in existing sciences, making them reliable elements of exact knowledge. For example, the debates about different types and measures of Force were crucial to the development of the science of Mechanics. The challenges philosophers faced in reaching a correct general understanding of plane, circular, and elliptical Polarization were some of the toughest milestones in the modern advancements of Optics. A clear understanding of the Atomic Constitution of substances, one that includes what we know and makes no assumptions, is still a contentious issue among Chemists. Recent debates that have made the concepts of Species and Genera more precise have enhanced the science of Botany. The shortcomings of the science of 32 Mineralogy largely stem from the fact that the concept of a Species is still not clearly defined. In Physiology, a philosopher who could establish a clear, defendable, and consistent understanding of Life would make a tremendous advancement!
Thus discussions and speculations concerning the import of very abstract and general terms and notions, may be, and in reality have been, far from useless and barren. Such discussions arose from the desire of men to impress their opinions on others, but they had the effect of making the opinions much more clear and distinct. In trying to make others understand them, they learnt to understand themselves. Their speculations were begun in twilight, and ended in the full brilliance of day. It was not easily and at once, without expenditure of labour or time, that men arrived at those notions which now form the elements of our knowledge; on the contrary, we have, in the history of science, seen how hard, discoverers, and the forerunners of discoverers, have had to struggle with the indistinctness and obscurity of the intellect, before they could advance to the critical point at which truth became clearly visible. And so long as, in this advance, some speculators were more forward than others, there was a natural and inevitable ground of difference of opinion, of argumentation, of wrangling. But the tendency of all such controversy is to diffuse truth and to dispel errour. Truth is consistent, and can bear the tug of war; Errour is incoherent, and falls to pieces in the struggle. True Conceptions can endure the sun, and become clearer as a fuller light is obtained; confused and inconsistent notions vanish like visionary spectres at the break of a brighter day. And thus all the controversies concerning such Conceptions as science involves, have ever ended in the establishment of the side on which the truth was found.
So, discussions and speculations about the meaning of very abstract and general terms and ideas can be, and have actually been, far from useless and pointless. These discussions came from people's desire to share their opinions with others, but they ended up making those opinions much clearer and more distinct. In trying to help others understand them, they learned to understand themselves. Their speculations began in uncertainty and ended in clear understanding. It wasn't easy or quick, without effort or time, for people to reach the ideas that now form the foundation of our knowledge; on the contrary, the history of science shows how hard explorers and their predecessors have had to fight against the confusion and obscurity of thought before they could reach the point where truth became clear. As some thinkers progressed more quickly than others, natural differences of opinion and debate arose. However, the result of all this controversy is to spread truth and eliminate falsehood. Truth is consistent and can withstand the heat of argument; falsehood is incoherent and breaks apart under pressure. True ideas can endure scrutiny and become clearer as they are further examined; unclear and inconsistent ideas disappear like illusions at the dawn of a brighter day. Therefore, all controversies regarding concepts that science involves have ultimately resulted in establishing the side where the truth was found.
3. Indeed, so complete has been the victory of truth in most of these instances, that at present we can hardly imagine the struggle to have been necessary. The very essence of these triumphs is that they lead us to regard the views we reject as not only false, 33 but inconceivable. And hence we are led rather to look back upon the vanquished with contempt than upon the victors with gratitude. We now despise those who, in the Copernican controversy, could not conceive the apparent motion of the sun on the heliocentric hypothesis;—or those who, in opposition to Galileo, thought that a uniform force might be that which generated a velocity proportional to the space;—or those who held there was something absurd in Newton’s doctrine of the different refrangibility of differently coloured rays;—or those who imagined that when elements combine, their sensible qualities must be manifest in the compound;—or those who were reluctant to give up the distinction of vegetables into herbs, shrubs, and trees. We cannot help thinking that men must have been singularly dull of comprehension, to find a difficulty in admitting what is to us so plain and simple. We have a latent persuasion that we in their place should have been wiser and more clear-sighted;—that we should have taken the right side, and given our assent at once to the truth.
3. In fact, the victory of truth in most of these cases has been so complete that it’s hard for us to imagine the struggle ever being necessary. The essence of these wins is that they make us see the views we reject as not just false, but unbelievable. Because of this, we tend to look back at those who were defeated with contempt rather than showing gratitude to the victors. We now look down on those who, during the Copernican debate, couldn’t understand the apparent motion of the sun in a heliocentric model; or those who, against Galileo’s ideas, believed that a constant force could create a speed proportional to distance; or those who thought there was something ridiculous about Newton’s theory on how different colors of light bend differently; or those who believed that when substances combine, their observable properties must be apparent in the mixture; or those who were hesitant to abandon the classification of plants into herbs, shrubs, and trees. It’s hard not to think that they must have been remarkably slow to understand, to struggle with accepting what seems so obvious and simple to us. We have an underlying belief that if we were in their position, we would have been wiser and more insightful—that we would have chosen the right side and accepted the truth immediately.
4. Yet in reality, such a persuasion is a mere delusion. The persons who, in such instances as the above, were on the losing side, were very far, in most cases, from being persons more prejudiced, or stupid, or narrow-minded, than the greater part of mankind now are; and the cause for which they fought was far from being a manifestly bad one, till it had been so decided by the result of the war. It is the peculiar character of scientific contests, that what is only an epigram with regard to other warfare is a truth in this;—They who are defeated are really in the wrong. But they may, nevertheless, be men of great subtilty, sagacity, and genius; and we nourish a very foolish self-complacency when we suppose that we are their superiors. That this is so, is proved by recollecting that many of those who have made very great discoveries have laboured under the imperfection of thought which was the obstacle to the next step in knowledge. Though Kepler detected with great acuteness the Numerical Laws of the solar system, he laboured in 34 vain to conceive the very simplest of the Laws of Motion by which the paths of the planets are governed. Though Priestley made some important steps in chemistry, he could not bring his mind to admit the doctrine of a general Principle of Oxidation. How many ingenious men in the last century rejected the Newtonian Attraction as an impossible chimera! How many more, equally intelligent, have, in the same manner, in our own time, rejected, I do not now mean as false, but as inconceivable, the doctrine of Luminiferous Undulations! To err in this way is the lot, not only of men in general, but of men of great endowments, and very sincere love of truth.
4. Yet in reality, this kind of belief is just an illusion. The people who, in situations like the ones mentioned above, ended up losing were often no more biased, foolish, or closed-minded than most people today. The cause for which they fought was far from obviously bad, until the outcome of the war settled that matter. In scientific debates, what is just a saying in other types of conflicts becomes a truth here: those who are defeated are actually in the wrong. However, they can still be individuals of great insight, wisdom, and talent, and it's pretty arrogant for us to think we're better than they were. This is proven by the fact that many who made significant discoveries struggled with the very misunderstandings that held back the next advancements in knowledge. Although Kepler keenly identified the Numerical Laws of the solar system, he struggled to grasp the basic Laws of Motion that dictate the planets' paths. While Priestley made important strides in chemistry, he couldn't accept the idea of a general Principle of Oxidation. How many brilliant minds in the last century dismissed Newtonian Attraction as impossible nonsense! And how many equally smart people in our own time have rejected, not necessarily as false, but as unimaginable, the concept of Luminiferous Undulations? Making mistakes like this is common not only for people in general but also for highly talented individuals with a genuine love for truth.
5. And those who liberate themselves from such perplexities, and who thus go on in advance of their age in such matters, owe their superiority in no small degree to such discussions and controversies as those to which we now refer. In such controversies, the Conceptions in question are turned in all directions, examined on all sides; the strength and the weakness of the maxims which men apply to them are fully tested; the light of the brightest minds is diffused to other minds. Inconsistency is unfolded into self-contradiction; axioms are built up into a system of necessary truths; and ready exemplifications are accumulated of that which is to be proved or disproved, concerning the ideas which are the basis of the controversy.
5. Those who free themselves from such confusion and move ahead of their time on these issues owe a significant part of their advantage to the discussions and debates we’re talking about. In these debates, the ideas in question are examined from every angle, tested thoroughly for their strengths and weaknesses; the insights of the greatest minds are shared with others. Inconsistencies reveal themselves as self-contradictions; principles are developed into a system of essential truths; and clear examples are gathered to support or challenge the concepts at the heart of the debate.
The History of Mechanics from the time of Kepler to that of Lagrange, is perhaps the best exemplification of the mode in which the progress of a science depends upon such disputes and speculations as give clearness and generality to its elementary conceptions. This, it is to be recollected, is the kind of progress of which we are now speaking; and this is the principal feature in the portion of scientific history which we have mentioned. For almost all that was to be done by reference to observation, was executed by Galileo and his disciples. What remained was the task of generalization and simplification. And this was promoted in no small degree by the various controversies which took place within that period concerning 35 mechanical conceptions:—as, for example, the question concerning the measure of the Force of Percussion;—the war of the Vis Viva;—the controversy of the Center of Oscillation;—of the independence of Statics and Dynamics;—of the principle of Least Action;—of the evidence of the Laws of Motion;—and of the number of Laws really distinct. None of these discussions was without its influence in giving generality and clearness to the mechanical ideas of mathematicians: and therefore, though remote from general apprehension, and dealing with very abstract notions, they were of eminent use in the perfecting the science of Mechanics. Similar controversies concerning fundamental notions, those, for example, which Galileo himself had to maintain, were no less useful in the formation of the science of Hydrostatics. And the like struggles and conflicts, whether they take the form of controversies between several persons, or only operate in the efforts and fluctuations of the discoverer’s mind, are always requisite, before the conceptions acquire that clearness which makes them flt to appear in the enunciation of scientific truth. This, then, was one object of the History of Ideas;—to bring under the reader’s notice the main elements of the controversies which have thus had so important a share in the formation of the existing body of science, and the decisions on the controverted points to which the mature examination of the subject has led; and thus to give an abundant exhibition of that step which we term the Explication of Conceptions.
The History of Mechanics from Kepler to Lagrange is probably the best example of how the progress of a science relies on the debates and theories that clarify and generalize its basic ideas. This is the type of progress we’re discussing; it’s the main aspect of the scientific history we've noted. Almost everything related to observation was achieved by Galileo and his followers. What was left was the work of generalization and simplification. This was significantly advanced by the various debates that occurred during this period regarding mechanical concepts: for instance, the question of measuring the Force of Percussion; the debate over Vis Viva; the discussion about the Center of Oscillation; the independence of Statics and Dynamics; the principle of Least Action; the evidence of the Laws of Motion; and the number of truly distinct Laws. Each of these discussions influenced the generality and clarity of mathematicians’ mechanical ideas. So, though they were abstract and not widely understood, these debates were extremely valuable in perfecting the science of Mechanics. Similar controversies regarding fundamental concepts, like those Galileo himself had to defend, were equally beneficial in the development of Hydrostatics. Such struggles and conflicts, whether they manifest as debates among individuals or through the thoughts and uncertainties of the discoverer, are always necessary before the ideas gain the clarity needed for articulate scientific truths. This, then, was one objective of the History of Ideas—to highlight the key elements of the debates that significantly contributed to the development of modern science and the conclusions reached through thorough examination of the topics, thereby providing a comprehensive display of what we call the Explication of Conceptions.
Sect. II.—Use of Definitions.
Sec. II.—How to Use Definitions.
6. The result of such controversies as we have been speaking of, often appears to be summed up in a Definition; and the controversy itself has often assumed the form of a battle of definitions. For example, the inquiry concerning the Laws of Falling Bodies led to the question whether the proper Definition of a uniform force is, that it generates a velocity proportional to the space from rest, or to the time. The controversy of the Vis Viva was, what was the 36 proper Definition of the measure of force. A principal question in the classification of minerals is, what is the Definition of a mineral species. Physiologists have endeavoured to throw light on their subject, by Defining organization, or some similar term.
6. The outcome of the controversies we’ve been discussing often seems to be captured in a Definition; and the controversy itself frequently takes the form of a battle over definitions. For instance, the investigation into the Laws of Falling Bodies raised the question of whether the correct definition of a uniform force is that it produces a velocity proportional to the distance from rest, or to the time. The debate over Vis Viva focused on what the correct definition of the measure of force is. A key question in classifying minerals is what constitutes a mineral species. Physiologists have tried to clarify their field by defining organization or a similar term.
7. It is very important for us to observe, that these controversies have never been questions of insulated and arbitrary Definitions, as men seem often tempted to suppose them to have been. In all cases there is a tacit assumption of some Proposition which is to be expressed by means of the Definition, and which gives it its importance. The dispute concerning the Definition thus acquires a real value, and becomes a question concerning true and false. Thus in the discussion of the question, What is a Uniform Force? it was taken for granted that ‘gravity is a uniform force:’—in the debate of the Vis Viva, it was assumed that ‘in the mutual action of bodies the whole effect of the force is unchanged:’—in the zoological definition of Species, (that it consists of individuals which have, or may have, sprung from the same parents,) it is presumed that ‘individuals so related resemble each other more than those which are excluded by such a definition;’ or perhaps, that ‘species so defined have permanent and definite differences.’ A definition of Organization, or of any other term, which was not employed to express some principle, would be of no value.
7. It’s really important for us to recognize that these controversies have never been just isolated and random definitions, as people often seem to think. In every case, there’s an unspoken assumption of some proposition that the definition is meant to convey, which gives it its significance. The argument over the definition thus gains real value and becomes a matter of true or false. For example, in the discussion about what a Uniform Force is, it was assumed that "gravity is a uniform force:"—in the debate over Vis Viva, it was taken for granted that "in the mutual action of bodies, the total effect of the force remains constant:"—in the biological definition of Species (that it consists of individuals who have, or can have, descended from the same parents), it’s assumed that "related individuals resemble each other more than those excluded by such a definition;" or perhaps, that "species defined this way have stable and distinct differences." A definition of Organization, or any other term, that isn’t connected to some underlying principle would have no real value.
The establishment, therefore, of a right Definition of a Term may be a useful step in the Explication of our Conceptions; but this will be the case then only when we have under our consideration some Proposition in which the Term is employed. For then the question really is, how the Conception shall be understood and defined in order that the Proposition may be true.
The establishment of a proper definition of a term can be a helpful step in clarifying our ideas; but this applies only when we have a specific proposition in which the term is used. Because then the real question is how the concept should be understood and defined so that the proposition can be true.
8. The establishment of a Proposition requires an attention to observed Facts, and can never be rightly derived from our Conceptions alone. We must hereafter consider the necessity which exists that the Facts should be rightly bound together, as well as that our Conceptions should be clearly employed, in order to 37 lead us to real knowledge. But we may observe here that, in such cases at least as we are now considering, the two processes are co-ordinate. To unfold our Conceptions by the means of Definitions, has never been serviceable to science, except when it has been associated with an immediate use of the Definitions. The endeavour to define a uniform Force was combined with the assertion that ‘gravity is a uniform force:’ the attempt to define Accelerating Force was immediately followed by the doctrine that ‘accelerating forces may be compounded:’ the process of defining Momentum was connected with the principle that ‘momenta gained and lost are equal:’ naturalists would have given in vain the Definition of Species which we have quoted, if they had not also given the ‘characters’ of species so separated. Definition and Proposition are the two handles of the instrument by which we apprehend truth; the former is of no use without the latter. Definition may be the best mode of explaining our Conception, but that which alone makes it worth while to explain it in any mode, is the opportunity of using it in the expression of Truth. When a Definition is propounded to us as a useful step in knowledge, we are always entitled to ask what Principle it serves to enunciate. If there be no answer to this inquiry, we define and give clearness to our conceptions in vain. While we labour at such a task, we do but light up a vacant room;—we sharpen a knife with which we have nothing to cut;—we take exact aim, while we load our artillery with blank cartridge;—we apply strict rules of grammar to sentences which have no meaning.
8. To establish a Proposition, we need to focus on observed Facts, and it can't be based on our Conceptions alone. We must consider the need for these Facts to be properly connected, as well as for our Conceptions to be clearly used, in order to 37 achieve true knowledge. However, we can see that, at least in the cases we're discussing now, these two processes are equally important. Unpacking our Conceptions through Definitions has never really helped science unless it's done in conjunction with a direct use of those Definitions. The effort to define a uniform Force was paired with the claim that ‘gravity is a uniform force:’ the attempt to define Accelerating Force was followed by the idea that ‘accelerating forces can be combined:’ the definition of Momentum was linked to the principle that ‘momenta gained and lost are equal:’ naturalists would have wasted their time defining Species if they hadn't also provided the ‘characters’ of those distinct species. Definition and Proposition are the two tools we use to grasp truth; the former is useless without the latter. Definition might be the best way to explain our Conception, but the only reason to explain it in any way is to use it in expressing Truth. When we're given a Definition as a helpful step in knowledge, we always have the right to ask what Principle it is meant to convey. If there's no answer to that question, then we define and clarify our concepts for no reason. While we work on such a task, we just light up an empty room;—we sharpen a knife we have nothing to cut;—we take perfect aim while loading our artillery with blank shots;—we apply strict grammar rules to sentences that have no meaning.
If, on the other hand, we have under our consideration a proposition probably established, every step which we can make in giving distinctness and exactness to the Terms which this proposition involves, is an important step towards scientific truth. In such cases, any improvement in our Definition is a real advance in the explication of our Conception. The clearness of our impressions casts a light upon the Ideas which we contemplate and convey to others. 38
If we’re looking at a well-established idea, every move we make to clarify and refine the terms involved is a significant step toward scientific truth. In these situations, any improvement in our definition is a genuine advancement in explaining our concept. The clarity of our understanding illuminates the ideas we think about and share with others. 38
9. But though Definition may be subservient to a right explication of our conceptions, it is not essential to that process. It is absolutely necessary to every advance in our knowledge, that those by whom such advances are made should possess clearly the conceptions which they employ: but it is by no means necessary that they should unfold these conceptions in the words of a formal Definition. It is easily seen, by examining the course of Galileo’s discoveries, that he had a distinct conception of the Moving Force which urges bodies downwards upon an inclined plane, while he still hesitated whether to call it Momentum, Energy, Impetus, or Force, and did not venture to offer a Definition of the thing which was the subject of his thoughts. The Conception of Polarization was clear in the minds of many optical speculators, from the time of Huyghens and Newton to that of Young and Fresnel. This Conception we have defined to be ‘Opposite properties depending upon opposite positions;’ but this notion was, by the discoverers, though constantly assumed and expressed by means of superfluous hypotheses, never clothed in definite language. And in the mean time, it was the custom, among subordinate writers on the same subjects, to say, that the term Polarization had no definite meaning, and was merely an expression of our ignorance. The Definition which was offered by Haüy and others of a Mineralogical Species;—‘The same elements combined in the same proportions, with the same fundamental form;’—was false, inasmuch as it was incapable of being rigorously applied to any one case; but this defect did not prevent the philosophers who propounded such a Definition from making many valuable additions to mineralogical knowledge, in the way of identifying some species and distinguishing others. The right Conception which they possessed in their minds prevented their being misled by their own very erroneous Definition. The want of any precise Definitions of Strata, and Formations, and Epochs, among geologists, has not prevented the discussions which they have carried on upon such subjects from being highly serviceable 39 in the promotion of geological knowledge. For however much the apparent vagueness of these terms might leave their arguments open to cavil, there was a general understanding prevalent among the most intelligent cultivators of the science, as to what was meant in such expressions; and this common understanding sufficed to determine what evidence should be considered conclusive and what inconclusive, in these inquiries. And thus the distinctness of Conception, which is a real requisite of scientific progress, existed in the minds of the inquirers, although Definitions, which are a partial and accidental evidence of this distinctness, had not yet been hit upon. The Idea had been developed in men’s minds, although a clothing of words had not been contrived for it, nor, perhaps, the necessity of such a vehicle felt: and thus that essential condition of the progress of knowledge, of which we are here speaking, existed; while it was left to the succeeding speculators to put this unwritten Rule in the form of a verbal Statute.
9. While Definition can help clarify our ideas, it is not essential for that process. It's crucial for anyone making advancements in knowledge to clearly understand the concepts they’re using, but it isn't necessary for them to explain these concepts with a formal Definition. A look at Galileo's discoveries shows that he had a clear idea of the Moving Force that pulls objects down an inclined plane, even though he was unsure whether to label it as Momentum, Energy, Impetus, or Force, and he didn't attempt to define what he was thinking about. The concept of Polarization was well understood by many optical theorists from Huyghens and Newton to Young and Fresnel. We have defined this concept as “Opposite properties depending on opposite positions;” yet those who discovered it frequently assumed and expressed it through unnecessary hypotheses without ever putting it into clear language. Meanwhile, it was common for less prominent writers in the same fields to claim that the term Polarization lacked a definite meaning and was simply an expression of our ignorance. The Definition provided by Haüy and others for a Mineralogical Species—“The same elements combined in the same proportions, with the same fundamental form;”—was incorrect as it couldn't be rigorously applied in any case; however, this flaw didn't stop the philosophers who proposed it from making significant contributions to mineralogy by identifying some species and differentiating others. The correct ideas they held in their minds kept them from being misled by their own inaccurate Definition. The absence of precise Definitions for Strata, Formations, and Epochs among geologists has not stopped their discussions about these topics from being very beneficial in advancing geological knowledge. While the seeming ambiguity of these terms might leave their arguments open to criticism, there was a shared understanding among knowledgeable scientists about what those terms meant; and this common understanding was enough to decide what evidence should be viewed as convincing and what should not in these discussions. Thus, the clarity of thought, which is essential for scientific progress, existed in the minds of the researchers, even if concrete Definitions, which are a partial and often incidental reflection of that clarity, had not yet been established. The concept had developed in people's minds, even without specific wording for it, nor perhaps a recognized need for such language; and so this vital condition for the advancement of knowledge that we are discussing was present, while it was left to future theorists to formalize this unwritten Rule into a verbal Statute.
10. Men are often prone to consider it as a thoughtless omission of an essential circumstance, and as a neglect which involves some blame, when knowledge thus assumes a form in which Definitions, or rather Conceptions, are implied but are not expressed. But in such a judgment, they assume that to be a matter of choice requiring attention only, which is in fact as difficult and precarious as any other portion of the task of discovery. To define, so that our Definition shall have any scientific value, requires no small portion of that sagacity by which truth is detected. As we have already said, Definitions and Propositions are co-ordinate in their use and in their origin. In many cases, perhaps in most, the Proposition which contains a scientific truth, is apprehended with confidence, but with some vagueness and vacillation, before it is put in a positive, distinct, and definite form.—It is thus known to be true, before it can be enunciated in terms each of which is rigorously defined. The business of Definition is part of the business of discovery. When it has been clearly seen what ought to be our Definition, it 40 must be pretty well known what truth we have to state. The Definition, as well as the discovery, supposes a decided step in our knowledge to have been made. The writers on Logic in the middle ages, made Definition the last stage in the progress of knowledge; and in this arrangement at least, the history of science, and the philosophy derived from the history, confirm their speculative views. If the Explication of our Conceptions ever assume the form of a Definition, this will come to pass, not as an arbitrary process, or as a matter of course, but as the mark of one of those happy efforts of sagacity to which all the successive advances of our knowledge are owing.
10. Men often tend to view it as a careless omission of an important detail and as a neglect that carries some blame, when knowledge takes a form where Definitions, or rather Conceptions, are implied but not explicitly stated. In such judgments, they assume that this is simply a matter of choice that needs attention, which is actually just as challenging and uncertain as any other part of the discovery process. To define something so that our Definition has scientific value requires a significant amount of insight used to uncover truth. As we've mentioned before, Definitions and Propositions are equal in their use and origin. In many instances, perhaps most, the Proposition that conveys a scientific truth is understood with confidence but also with some ambiguity and hesitation before it is expressed in a clear, distinct, and definite form. It is recognized as true before it can be stated in terms where each word is precisely defined. The task of Definition is part of the task of discovery. Once it's clearly understood what our Definition should be, it 40 is well-known what truth we need to articulate. The Definition, just like the discovery, assumes that a significant advancement in our knowledge has taken place. Medieval Logic writers positioned Definition as the final stage in the progression of knowledge; and in this regard, the history of science, along with the philosophy that stems from it, supports their theoretical perspectives. If the clarification of our Conceptions ever takes the shape of a Definition, it won’t happen as an arbitrary act or as a routine matter, but as the result of one of those fortunate bursts of insight from which all the advancements in our knowledge arise.
Sect. III.—Use of Axioms.
Section III.—Application of Axioms.
11. Our Conceptions, then, even when they become so clear as the progress of knowledge requires, are not adequately expressed, or necessarily expressed at all, by means of Definitions. We may ask, then, whether there is any other mode of expression in which we may look for the evidence and exposition of that peculiar exactness of thought which the formation of Science demands. And in answer to this inquiry, we may refer to the discussions respecting many of the Fundamental Ideas of the sciences contained in our History of such Ideas. It has there been seen that these Ideas involve many elementary truths which enter into the texture of our knowledge, introducing into it connexions and relations of the most important kind, although these elementary truths cannot be deduced from any verbal definition of the idea. It has been seen that these elementary truths may often be enunciated by means of Axioms, stated in addition to, or in preference to, Definitions. For example, the Idea of Cause, which forms the basis of the science of Mechanics, makes its appearance in our elementary mechanical reasonings, not as a Definition, but by means of the Axioms that ‘Causes are measured by their effects,’ and that ‘Reaction is equal and opposite to action.’ Such axioms, tacitly assumed or 41 occasionally stated, as maxims of acknowledged validity, belong to all the Ideas which form the foundations of the sciences, and are constantly employed in the reasoning and speculations of those who think clearly on such subjects. It may often be a task of some difficulty to detect and enunciate in words the Principles which are thus, perhaps silently and unconsciously, taken for granted by those who have a share in the establishment of scientific truth: but inasmuch as these Principles are an essential element in our knowledge, it is very important to our present purpose to separate them from the associated materials, and to trace them to their origin. This accordingly I attempted to do, with regard to a considerable number of the most prominent of such Ideas, in the History. The reader will there find many of these Ideas resolved into Axioms and Principles by means of which their effect upon the elementary reasonings of the various sciences may be expressed. That Work is intended to form, in some measure, a representation of the Ideal Side of our physical knowledge;—a Table of those contents of our Conceptions which are not received directly from facts;—an exhibition of Rules to which we know that truth must conform.
11. Our ideas, even when they become as clear as the progress of knowledge requires, are not adequately expressed, or necessarily expressed at all, through Definitions. So, we might wonder if there is any other way to express the evidence and explanation of the precise thinking that the formation of Science demands. In response to this question, we can refer to the discussions about many of the Fundamental Ideas of the sciences found in our History of such Ideas. It has been shown that these Ideas involve many basic truths that form the foundation of our knowledge, introducing connections and relationships of great importance, even though these basic truths cannot be derived from any verbal definition of the idea. It has also been shown that these basic truths can often be stated using Axioms, in addition to or instead of Definitions. For example, the Idea of Cause, which is fundamental to the science of Mechanics, appears in our basic mechanical reasoning not as a Definition, but through Axioms like ‘Causes are measured by their effects’ and ‘Reaction is equal and opposite to action.’ These axioms, either assumed implicitly or stated occasionally as accepted maxims, apply to all the Ideas that underpin the sciences and are constantly used in the reasoning and speculations of those who think clearly about these topics. It may often be challenging to identify and articulate in words the Principles that are perhaps silently and unconsciously taken for granted by those contributing to the establishment of scientific truth; however, since these Principles are essential to our knowledge, it is crucial for our current purpose to separate them from the associated content and trace them back to their origins. I have attempted to do just that for a considerable number of the most prominent of these Ideas in the History. The reader will find many of these Ideas broken down into Axioms and Principles that highlight their impact on the basic reasoning of various sciences. That Work aims to represent, to some extent, the Ideal Side of our physical knowledge;—a breakdown of the aspects of our Concepts that are not derived directly from facts;—a presentation of the Rules that we understand truth must adhere to.
Sect. IV.—Clear and appropriate Ideas.
Sect. IV.—Clear and Relevant Ideas.
12. In order, however, that we may see the necessary cogency of these rules, we must possess, clearly and steadily, the Ideas from which the rules flow. In order to perceive the necessary relations of the Circles of the Sphere, we must possess clearly the Idea of Solid Space:—in order that we may see the demonstration of the composition of forces, we must have the Idea of Cause moulded into a distinct Conception of Statical Force. This is that Clearness of Ideas which we stipulate for in any one’s mind, as the first essential condition of his making any new step in the discovery of truth. And we now see what answer we are able to give, if we are asked for a Criterion of this Clearness of 42 Idea. The Criterion is, that the person shall see the necessity of the Axioms belonging to each Idea;—shall accept them in such a manner as to perceive the cogency of the reasonings founded upon them. Thus, a person has a clear Idea of Space who follows the reasonings of geometry and fully apprehends their conclusiveness. The Explication of Conceptions, which we are speaking of as an essential part of real knowledge, is the process by which we bring the Clearness of our Ideas to bear upon the Formation of our knowledge. And this is done, as we have now seen, not always, nor generally, nor principally, by laying down a Definition of the Conception; but by acquiring such a possession of it in our minds as enables, indeed compels us, to admit, along with the Conception, all the Axioms and Principles which it necessarily implies, and by which it produces its effect upon our reasonings.
12. However, to see how necessary these rules are, we need to have a clear and steady grasp of the Ideas from which the rules come. To understand the necessary relationships of the Circles of the Sphere, we need a clear Idea of Solid Space; to see the proof of how forces combine, we must have the Idea of Cause shaped into a clear understanding of Statical Force. This is the Clearness of Ideas that we require in anyone's mind as the first essential condition for making any new progress in discovering the truth. Now we can answer the question of what serves as a Criterion for this Clearness of 42 Idea. The Criterion is that the person should see the necessity of the Axioms associated with each Idea; they should accept them in a way that allows them to understand the strength of the arguments based on those Axioms. So, a person has a clear Idea of Space if they can follow the reasoning in geometry and fully grasp its conclusions. The process of clarifying Conceptions, which we consider a crucial part of true knowledge, is how we apply the Clearness of our Ideas to the Development of our knowledge. And we have seen that this doesn't always happen, nor usually, nor mainly, by simply defining the Conception; rather, it's about having such a firm grasp of it in our minds that we are indeed compelled to accept, along with the Conception, all the Axioms and Principles that it necessarily includes and that shape our reasoning.
13. But in order that we may make any real advance in the discovery of truth, our Ideas must not only be clear, they must also be appropriate. Each science has for its basis a different class of Ideas; and the steps which constitute the progress of one science can never be made by employing the Ideas of another kind of science. No genuine advance could ever be obtained in Mechanics by applying to the subject the Ideas of Space and Time merely:—no advance in Chemistry, by the use of mere Mechanical Conceptions:—no discovery in Physiology, by referring facts to mere Chemical and Mechanical Principles. Mechanics must involve the Conception of Force;—Chemistry, the Conception of Elementary Composition;—Physiology, the Conception of Vital Powers. Each science must advance by means of its appropriate Conceptions. Each has its own field, which extends as far as its principles can be applied. I have already noted the separation of several of these fields by the divisions of the Books of the History of Ideas. The Mechanical, the Secondary Mechanical, the Chemical, the Classificatory, the Biological Sciences form so many great Provinces in the Kingdom of knowledge, each in a great measure possessing its own peculiar fundamental principles. Every attempt to build up a 43 new science by the application of principles which belong to an old one, will lead to frivolous and barren speculations.
13. But to truly progress in the search for truth, our ideas need to be not only clear but also appropriate. Each field of study is based on a different set of ideas; the advancements in one field can’t be achieved by using ideas from another. You can’t make real progress in Mechanics just by thinking about Space and Time; you won’t advance in Chemistry by relying solely on Mechanical concepts; and you can’t discover new things in Physiology by only considering Chemical and Mechanical principles. Mechanics involves the concept of Force; Chemistry revolves around Elementary Composition; and Physiology is based on the idea of Vital Powers. Each field advances through its specific concepts. Each has its own area of focus, determined by how far its principles can be applied. I've already pointed out the division of these areas in the sections of the History of Ideas. The Mechanical, Secondary Mechanical, Chemical, Classificatory, and Biological Sciences make up distinct provinces within the realm of knowledge, each largely having its own fundamental principles. Trying to create a new science by applying principles from an established one will only result in trivial and unproductive speculation.
This truth has been exemplified in all the instances in which subtle speculative men have failed in their attempts to frame new sciences, and especially in the essays of the ancient schools of philosophy in Greece, as has already been stated in the History of Science. Aristotle and his followers endeavoured in vain to account for the mechanical relation of forces in the lever by applying the inappropriate geometrical conceptions of the properties of the circle:—they speculated to no purpose about the elementary composition of bodies, because they assumed the inappropriate conception of likeness between the elements and the compound, instead of the genuine notion of elements merely determining the qualities of the compound. And in like manner, in modern times, we have seen, in the history of the fundamental ideas of the physiological sciences, how all the inappropriate mechanical and chemical and other ideas which were applied in succession to the subject failed in bringing into view any genuine physiological truth.
This truth has been demonstrated in all the cases where clever speculative thinkers have failed in their attempts to create new sciences, especially in the writings of the ancient schools of philosophy in Greece, as mentioned earlier in the History of Science. Aristotle and his followers tried in vain to explain the mechanical relationship of forces in the lever by using the wrong geometric ideas about the properties of the circle; they speculated fruitlessly about the basic composition of bodies because they assumed an incorrect idea of similarity between the elements and the compound, rather than the true concept that elements simply determine the qualities of the compound. Similarly, in modern times, we've seen in the history of the core concepts of physiological sciences how all the misguided mechanical, chemical, and other ideas that were successively applied to the subject failed to reveal any true physiological truths.
14. That the real cause of the failure in the instances above mentioned lay in the Conceptions, is plain. It was not ignorance of the facts which in these cases prevented the discovery of the truth. Aristotle was as well acquainted with the fact of the proportion of the weights which balance on a Lever as Archimedes was, although Archimedes alone gave the true mechanical reason for the proportion.
14. It's clear that the real reason for the failure in the cases mentioned above was the Conceptions. It wasn't a lack of understanding of the facts that kept the truth from being discovered. Aristotle knew just as much about the ratio of the weights that balance on a lever as Archimedes did, but only Archimedes provided the accurate mechanical explanation for that ratio.
With regard to the doctrine of the Four Elements indeed, the inapplicability of the conception of composition of qualities, required, perhaps, to be proved by some reference to facts. But this conception was devised at first, and accepted by succeeding times, in a blind and gratuitous manner, which could hardly have happened if men had been awake to the necessary condition of our knowledge;—that the conceptions which we introduce into our doctrines are not arbitrary or accidental notions, but certain peculiar modes of 44 apprehension strictly determined by the subject of our speculations.
Regarding the theory of the Four Elements, the idea that qualities can be composed may need to be supported by some factual evidence. However, this idea was initially created and later accepted without much thought, which likely wouldn't have occurred if people had been more aware of the essential nature of our understanding—that the concepts we incorporate into our theories aren't random or coincidental, but rather specific ways of understanding that are clearly defined by the subjects we study.
15. It may, however, be said that this injunction that we are to employ appropriate Conceptions only in the formation of our knowledge, cannot be of practical use, because we can only determine what Ideas are appropriate, by finding that they truly combine the facts. And this is to a certain extent true. Scientific discovery must ever depend upon some happy thought, of which we cannot trace the origin;—some fortunate cast of intellect, rising above all rules. No maxims can be given which inevitably lead to discovery. No precepts will elevate a man of ordinary endowments to the level of a man of genius: nor will an inquirer of truly inventive mind need to come to the teacher of inductive philosophy to learn how to exercise the faculties which nature has given him. Such persons as Kepler or Fresnel, or Brewster, will have their powers of discovering truth little augmented by any injunctions respecting Distinct and Appropriate Ideas; and such men may very naturally question the utility of rules altogether.
15. It can be argued that this guideline to use appropriate concepts only in our knowledge formation isn't very practical, since we can only determine which ideas are appropriate by seeing if they actually tie the facts together. And that's somewhat true. Scientific discovery always relies on a sudden insight, the origin of which we can't trace—some lucky burst of creativity that goes beyond all rules. No principles can be provided that will inevitably lead to a discovery. No instructions will elevate an average person to the level of a genius; nor will someone with a truly inventive mindset need to seek out a teacher of inductive philosophy to learn how to use the abilities that nature has given them. People like Kepler, Fresnel, or Brewster will find their ability to uncover truth only slightly enhanced by any rules about distinct and appropriate ideas; and such individuals might very well question the usefulness of rules altogether.
16. But yet the opinions which such persons may entertain, will not lead us to doubt concerning the value of the attempts to analyse and methodize the process of discovery. Who would attend to Kepler if he had maintained that the speculations of Francis Bacon were worthless? Notwithstanding what has been said, we may venture to assert that the Maxim which points out the necessity of Ideas appropriate as well as clear, for the purpose of discovering truth, is not without its use. It may, at least, have a value as a caution or prohibition, and may thus turn us away from labours certain to be fruitless. We have already seen, in the History of Ideas, that this maxim, if duly attended to, would have at once condemned, as wrongly directed, the speculations of physiologists of the mathematical, mechanical, chemical, and vital-fluid schools; since the Ideas which the teachers of these schools introduce, cannot suffice for the purposes of physiology, which seeks truths respecting the vital powers. Again, 45 it is clear from similar considerations that no definition of a mineralogical species by chemical characters alone can answer the end of science, since we seek to make mineralogy, not an analytical but a classificatory science1. Even before the appropriate conception is matured in men’s minds so that they see clearly what it is, they may still have light enough to see what it is not.
16. However, the opinions held by these individuals do not make us doubt the value of efforts to analyze and organize the process of discovery. Who would take Kepler seriously if he claimed that Francis Bacon's ideas were worthless? Despite what has been said, we can confidently assert that the principle highlighting the need for both relevant and clear ideas in the pursuit of truth is still useful. It may at least serve as a warning or guideline, steering us away from endeavors that are sure to be unproductive. As we've seen in the History of Ideas, this principle, if properly considered, would immediately have deemed the speculations of physiologists from the mathematical, mechanical, chemical, and vital-fluid schools as misguided; because the ideas presented by these teachers are insufficient for physiology, which aims to uncover truths about vital powers. Additionally, it is evident from similar reasoning that defining a mineralogical species solely by chemical properties does not fulfill the goals of science, since we want mineralogy to be a classificatory rather than an analytical science1. Even before a clear understanding of the appropriate concept is fully developed in people's minds, they may still have enough insight to recognize what it is not.
17. Another result of this view of the necessity of appropriate Ideas, combined with a survey of the history of science is, that though for the most part, as we shall see, the progress of science consists in accumulating and combining Facts rather than in debating concerning Definitions; there are still certain periods when the discussion of Definitions may be the most useful mode of cultivating some special branch of science. This discussion is of course always to be conducted by the light of facts; and, as has already been said, along with the settlement of every good Definition will occur the corresponding establishment of some Proposition. But still at particular periods, the want of a Definition, or of the clear conceptions which Definition supposes, may be peculiarly felt. A good and tenable Definition of Species in Mineralogy would at present be perhaps the most important step which the science could make. A just conception of the nature of Life, (and if expressed by means of a Definition, so much the better,) can hardly fail to give its possessor an immense advantage in the speculations which now come under the considerations of physiologists. And controversies respecting Definitions, in these cases, and such as these, may be very far from idle and unprofitable.
17. Another outcome of this belief in the necessity of appropriate ideas, combined with a look at the history of science, is that while most of the time, as we’ll see, the progress of science involves gathering and combining facts rather than debating definitions, there are still certain periods when discussing definitions can be the most helpful way to develop a specific area of science. This discussion should always be guided by facts; and, as mentioned before, with every solid definition, there will also be the establishment of a corresponding proposition. However, there are times when the lack of a definition, or the clear ideas that a definition implies, can be particularly notable. Having a solid and sustainable definition of species in mineralogy would currently be perhaps the most crucial advancement the science could achieve. A correct understanding of the essence of life, especially if framed as a definition, can undoubtedly provide its holder with a significant advantage in the speculations currently being considered by physiologists. And debates over definitions in these cases, and similar ones, can be quite valuable and worthwhile.
Thus the knowledge that Clear and Appropriate Ideas are requisite for discovery, although it does not lead to any very precise precepts, or supersede the value of natural sagacity and inventiveness, may still 46 be of use to us in our pursuit after truth. It may show us what course of research is, in each stage of science, recommended by the general analogy of the history of knowledge; and it may both save us from hopeless and barren paths of speculation, and make us advance with more courage and confidence, to know that we are looking for discoveries in the manner in which they have always hitherto been made.
So, understanding that clear and appropriate ideas are essential for discovery, even though it doesn’t provide any specific rules or replace the importance of natural insight and creativity, can still be helpful in our quest for truth. It can guide us on which research paths are recommended at each stage of science based on the overall pattern of knowledge history. It can help us avoid unproductive and empty lines of thought and give us the courage and confidence to pursue discoveries in the way they have always been made. 46
Sect. V.—Accidental Discoveries.
Sect. V.—Serendipitous Discoveries.
18. Another consequence follows from the views presented in this Chapter, and it is the last I shall at present mention. No scientific discovery can, with any justice, be considered due to accident. In whatever manner facts may be presented to the notice of a discoverer, they can never become the materials of exact knowledge, except they find his mind already provided with precise and suitable conceptions by which they may be analysed and connected. Indeed, as we have already seen, facts cannot be observed as Facts, except in virtue of the Conceptions which the observer2 himself unconsciously supplies; and they are not Facts of Observation for any purpose of Discovery, except these familiar and unconscious acts of thought be themselves of a just and precise kind. But supposing the Facts to be adequately observed, they can never be combined into any new Truth, except by means of some new Conceptions, clear and appropriate, such as I have endeavoured to characterize. When the observer’s mind is prepared with such instruments, a very few facts, or it may be a single one, may bring the process of discovery into action. But in such cases, this previous condition of the intellect, and not the single fact, is really the main and peculiar cause of the success. The fact is merely the occasion by which the engine of discovery is brought into play sooner or later. It is, as I have elsewhere said, only the spark which discharges a gun already loaded and pointed; and there 47 is little propriety in speaking of such an accident as the cause why the bullet hits the mark. If it were true that the fall of an apple was the occasion of Newton’s pursuing the train of thought which led to the doctrine of universal gravitation, the habits and constitution of Newton’s intellect, and not the apple, were the real source of this great event in the progress of knowledge. The common love of the marvellous, and the vulgar desire to bring down the greatest achievements of genius to our own level, may lead men to ascribe such results to any casual circumstances which accompany them; but no one who fairly considers the real nature of great discoveries, and the intellectual processes which they involve, can seriously hold the opinion of their being the effect of accident.
18. Another consequence arises from the ideas presented in this Chapter, and it's the last one I will mention for now. No scientific discovery can fairly be considered due to accident. Regardless of how facts come to the attention of a discoverer, they can never form the basis of exact knowledge unless the discoverer’s mind is already equipped with clear and appropriate concepts to analyze and connect them. In fact, as we have seen before, facts cannot be observed as Facts unless they are interpreted through the concepts that the observer unconsciously provides; and they do not count as Facts of Observation for the purpose of Discovery unless these familiar and unconscious thought processes are accurate and precise. However, assuming the facts are adequately observed, they cannot be combined into any new Truth without the presence of new, clear, and relevant concepts, which I have tried to describe. When the observer’s mind is equipped with such tools, just a few facts, or even a single fact, can trigger the process of discovery. But in these cases, it is the prior condition of the intellect, and not the single fact, that is the main reason for the success. The fact is merely the trigger that sets the discovery process in motion. As I have mentioned elsewhere, it is like the spark that ignites a gun that is already loaded and aimed; hence, it’s not accurate to say that such an accident causes the bullet to hit the target. If it were true that the fall of an apple prompted Newton to pursue the line of thought that led to the theory of universal gravitation, it was Newton’s own intellectual habits and makeup, not the apple, that were the true source of this major milestone in the advancement of knowledge. The general fascination with the extraordinary and the common desire to diminish the greatest achievements of genius to our level may lead people to attribute such outcomes to random circumstances that accompany them; but anyone who truly understands the real nature of significant discoveries and the mental processes involved cannot genuinely believe that they are merely the result of chance.
19. Such accidents never happen to common men. Thousands of men, even of the most inquiring and speculative men, had seen bodies fall; but who, except Newton, ever followed the accident to such consequences? And in fact, how little of his train of thought was contained in, or even directly suggested by, the fall of the apple! If the apple fall, said the discoverer, ‘why should not the moon, the planets, the satellites, fall?’ But how much previous thought,—what a steady conception of the universality of the laws of motion gathered from other sources,—were requisite, that the inquirer should see any connexion in these cases! Was it by accident that he saw in the apple an image of the moon, and of every body in the solar system?
19. Such accidents never happen to ordinary people. Thousands of men, even the most curious and speculative ones, had seen bodies fall; but who, besides Newton, ever traced the accident to such consequences? In fact, how little of his line of thought was contained in, or even directly suggested by, the fall of the apple! If the apple falls, the discoverer wondered, ‘why shouldn’t the moon, the planets, and the satellites fall too?’ But how much prior thinking—what a consistent understanding of the universality of the laws of motion gathered from other sources—was necessary for the inquirer to see any connection in these cases! Was it by coincidence that he perceived the apple as a reflection of the moon and every body in the solar system?
20. The same observations may be made with regard to the other cases which are sometimes adduced as examples of accidental discovery. It has been said, ‘By the accidental placing of a rhomb of calcareous spar upon a book or line Bartholinus discovered the property of the Double Refraction of light.’ But Bartholinus could have seen no such consequence in the accident if he had not previously had a clear conception of single refraction. A lady, in describing an optical experiment which had been shown her, said of her teacher, ‘He told me to increase and diminish 48 the angle of refraction, and at last I found that he only meant me to move my head up and down.’ At any rate, till the lady had acquired the notions which the technical terms convey, she could not have made Bartholinus’s discovery by means of his accident. ‘By accidentally combining two rhombs in different positions,’ it is added, ‘Huyghens discovered the Polarization of Light.’ Supposing that this experiment had been made without design, what Huyghens really observed was, that the images appeared and disappeared alternately as he turned one of the rhombs round. But was it an easy or an obvious business to analyze this curious alternation into the circumstances of the rays of light having sides, as Newton expressed it, and into the additional hypotheses which are implied in the term ‘polarization’? Those will be able to answer this question, who have found how far from easy it is to understand clearly what is meant by ‘polarization’ in this case, now that the property is fully established. Huyghens’s success depended on his clearness of thought, for this enabled him to perform the intellectual analysis, which never would have occurred to most men, however often they had ‘accidentally combined two rhombs in different positions.’ ‘By accidentally looking through a prism of the same substance, and turning it round, Malus discovered the polarization of light by reflection.’ Malus saw that, in some positions of the prism, the light reflected from the windows of the Louvre thus seen through the prism, became dim. A common man would have supposed this dimness the result of accident; but Malus’s mind was differently constituted and disciplined. He considered the position of the window, and of the prism; repeated the experiment over and over; and in virtue of the eminently distinct conceptions of space which he possessed, resolved the phenomena into its geometrical conditions. A believer in accident would not have sought them; a person of less clear ideas would not have found them. A person must have a strange confidence in the virtue of chance, and the worthlessness of intellect, who can say that 49 ‘in all these fundamental discoveries appropriate ideas had no share,’ and that the discoveries ‘might have been made by the most ordinary observers.’
20. The same observations can be made about other cases that are sometimes presented as examples of accidental discovery. It's been said, "By accidentally placing a rhomb of calcareous spar on a book or line, Bartholinus discovered the property of Double Refraction of light." However, Bartholinus wouldn't have noticed any such outcome from the accident if he hadn't already had a clear understanding of single refraction. A woman, describing an optical experiment shown to her, remarked about her teacher, "He told me to increase and decrease 48 the angle of refraction, and eventually I realized he just meant for me to move my head up and down." At any rate, until the woman grasped the concepts conveyed by the technical terms, she couldn’t have made Bartholinus’s discovery through his accident. "By accidentally combining two rhombs in different positions," it adds, "Huyghens discovered the Polarization of Light." Assuming this experiment was done unintentionally, what Huyghens really noticed was that the images appeared and disappeared alternately as he rotated one of the rhombs. But was it easy or obvious to break down this curious alternation into the circumstances of the rays of light having sides, as Newton put it, and into the additional ideas implied by the term "polarization"? Those who have experienced how challenging it is to fully understand what "polarization" means in this case, now that the property is well established, can answer that question. Huyghens’s success depended on his clarity of thought, which allowed him to perform the intellectual analysis that would have never occurred to most people, no matter how often they had "accidentally combined two rhombs in different positions." "By accidentally looking through a prism of the same substance and turning it around, Malus discovered the polarization of light by reflection." Malus noticed that, in some positions of the prism, the light reflected from the windows of the Louvre, viewed through the prism, became dim. An ordinary person might have thought this dimness was just a coincidence; but Malus’s mind was differently structured and trained. He considered the positions of the window and the prism; he repeated the experiment multiple times; and thanks to his clearly defined concepts of space, he was able to break the phenomena down into their geometrical conditions. Someone who believes in chance wouldn't have sought those conditions; a person with less clear ideas wouldn't have found them. One must have a curious confidence in the power of chance and the insignificance of intellect to say that 49 "in all these fundamental discoveries, appropriate ideas played no role," and that the discoveries "could have been made by the most ordinary observers."
21. I have now, I trust, shown in various ways, how the Explication of Conceptions, including in this term their clear development from Fundamental Ideas in the discoverer’s mind, as well as their precise expression in the form of Definitions or Axioms, when that can be done, is an essential part in the establishment of all exact and general physical truths. In doing this, I have endeavoured to explain in what sense the possession of clear and appropriate ideas is a main requisite for every step in scientific discovery. That it is far from being the only step, I shall soon have to show; and if any obscurity remain on the subject treated of in the present chapter, it will, I hope, be removed when we have examined the other elements which enter into the constitution of our knowledge.
21. I hope I have now demonstrated in various ways how the Explication of Conceptions, which includes clearly developing them from Fundamental Ideas in the discoverer's mind and expressing them accurately in the form of Definitions or Axioms when possible, is a crucial part of establishing all exact and general physical truths. In doing this, I aimed to clarify how having clear and appropriate ideas is essential for every step in scientific discovery. While it is certainly a key step, I will soon show that it is far from the only one; and if any confusion remains on the topic discussed in this chapter, I hope it will be cleared up once we examine the other elements that make up our knowledge.
CHAPTER III.
Regarding Facts as the Materials of Science.
Aphorism IV.
Aphorism IV.
Facts are the materials of science, but all Facts involve Ideas. Since in observing Facts, we cannot exclude Ideas, we must, for the purposes of science, take care that the Ideas are clear and rigorously applied.
Facts are the building blocks of science, but every fact includes ideas. Since we can't observe facts without incorporating ideas, we need to ensure that those ideas are clear and used consistently for scientific purposes.
Aphorism V.
Aphorism V.
The last Aphorism leads to such Rules as the following:—That Facts, for the purposes of material science, must involve Conceptions of the Intellect only, and not Emotions:—That Facts must be observed with reference to our most exact conceptions, Number, Place, Figure, Motion:—That they must also be observed with reference to any other exact conceptions which the phenomena suggest, as Force, in mechanical phenomena, Concord, in musical.
The final Aphorism leads to the following principles:—That for material science, Facts must involve only intellectual concepts, not feelings:—That Facts should be observed in relation to our most precise ideas, including Number, Place, Shape, and Motion:—That they must also be observed in connection with any other specific concepts that the phenomena suggest, such as Force in mechanical phenomena and Harmony in music.
Aphorism VI.
Aphorism 6.
The resolution of complex Facts into precise and measured partial Facts, we call the Decomposition of Facts. This process is requisite for the progress of science, but does not necessarily lead to progress.
The breakdown of complex Facts into clear and specific partial Facts is what we refer to as the Decomposition of Facts. This process is essential for scientific advancement, but it doesn't automatically result in progress.
1. WE have now to examine how Science is built up by the combination of Facts. In doing this, we suppose that we have already attained a supply of definite and certain Facts, free from obscurity and doubt. We must, therefore, first consider under what conditions Facts can assume this character.
WE need to look at how Science is formed by combining Facts. To do this, we assume we have already gathered a clear and reliable set of Facts, without any confusion or uncertainty. So, we should first think about the conditions under which Facts can have this quality.
When we inquire what Facts are to be made the materials of Science, perhaps the answer which we 51 should most commonly receive would be, that they must be True Facts, as distinguished from any mere inferences or opinions of our own. We should probably be told that we must be careful in such a case to consider as Facts, only what we really observe;—that we must assert only what we see; and believe nothing except upon the testimony of our senses.
When we ask what Facts should be used as the foundation of Science, the most common response we might get is that they have to be True Facts, different from any mere inferences or personal opinions. We would likely be advised to only accept as Facts what we actually observe; that we should only state what we see and believe nothing except based on what our senses tell us.
But such maxims are far from being easy to apply, as a little examination will convince us.
But these principles are far from easy to apply, as a bit of inspection will show us.
2. It has been explained, in preceding works, that all perception of external objects and occurrences involves an active as well as a passive process of the mind;—includes not only Sensations, but also Ideas by which Sensations are bound together, and have a unity given to them. From this it follows, that there is a difficulty in separating in our perceptions what we receive from without, and what we ourselves contribute from within;—what we perceive, and what we infer. In many cases, this difficulty is obvious to all: as, for example, when we witness the performances of a juggler or a ventriloquist. In these instances, we imagine ourselves to see and to hear what certainly we do not see and hear. The performer takes advantage of the habits by which our minds supply interruptions and infer connexions; and by giving us fallacious indications, he leads us to perceive as an actual fact, what does not happen at all. In these cases, it is evident that we ourselves assist in making the fact; for we make one which does not really exist. In other cases, though the fact which we perceive be true, we can easily see that a large portion of the perception is our own act; as when, from the sight of a bird of prey we infer a carcase, or when we read a half-obliterated inscription. In the latter case, the mind supplies the meaning, and perhaps half the letters; yet we do not hesitate to say that we actually read the inscription. Thus, in many cases, our own inferences and interpretations enter into our facts. But this happens in many instances in which it is at first sight less obvious. When any one has seen an oak-tree blown down by a strong gust of wind, he does not think of the occurrence 52 any otherwise than as a Fact of which he is assured by his senses. Yet by what sense does he perceive the Force which he thus supposes the wind to exert? By what sense does he distinguish an Oak-tree from all other trees? It is clear upon reflexion, that in such a case, his own mind supplies the conception of extraneous impulse and pressure, by which he thus interprets the motions observed, and the distinction of different kinds of trees, according to which he thus names the one under his notice. The Idea of Force, and the idea of definite Resemblances and Differences, are thus combined with the impressions on our senses, and form an undistinguished portion of that which we consider as the Fact. And it is evident that we can in no other way perceive Force, than by seeing motion; and cannot give a Name to any object, without not only seeing a difference of single objects, but supposing a difference of classes of objects. When we speak as if we saw impulse and attraction, things and classes, we really see only objects of various forms and colours, more or less numerous, variously combined. But do we really perceive so much as this? When we see the form, the size, the number, the motion of objects, are these really mere impressions on our senses, unmodified by any contribution or operation of the mind itself? A very little attention will suffice to convince us that this is not the case. When we see a windmill turning, it may happen, as we have elsewhere noticed3, that we mistake the direction in which the sails turn: when we look at certain diagrams, they may appear either convex or concave: when we see the moon first in the horizon and afterwards high up in the sky, we judge her to be much larger in the former than in the latter position, although to the eye she subtends the same angle. And in these cases and the like, it has been seen that the errour and confusion which we thus incur arise from the mixture of acts of the mind itself with impressions on the senses. But such acts are, as we have also seen, inseparable portions of the process 53 of perception. A certain activity of the mind is involved, not only in seeing objects erroneously, but in seeing them at all. With regard to solid objects, this is generally acknowledged. When we seem to see an edifice occupying space in all dimensions, we really see only a representation of it as it appears referred by perspective to a surface. The inference of the solid form is an operation of our own, alike when we look at a reality and when we look at a picture. But we may go further. Is plane Figure really a mere Sensation? If we look at a decagon, do we see at once that it has ten sides, or is it not necessary for us to count them: and is not counting an act of the mind? All objects are seen in space; all objects are seen as one or many: but are not the Idea of Space and the Idea of Number requisite in order that we may thus apprehend what we see? That these Ideas of Space and Number involve a connexion derived from the mind, and not from the senses, appears, as we have already seen, from this, that those Ideas afford us the materials of universal and necessary truths:—such truths as the senses cannot possibly supply. And thus, even the perception of such facts as the size, shape, and number of objects, cannot be said to be impressions of sense, distinct from all acts of mind, and cannot be expected to be free from errour on the ground of their being mere observed Facts.
2. It has been explained in earlier works that all perception of external objects and events involves both an active and a passive process of the mind—it includes not just sensations, but also ideas that connect those sensations and give them unity. Consequently, there's a challenge in separating what we receive externally from what we contribute internally—what we perceive and what we infer. In many cases, this challenge is obvious to everyone: for instance, when we observe the acts of a juggler or a ventriloquist. In these situations, we think we see and hear things that we definitely do not. The performer takes advantage of the ways our minds fill in gaps and make connections, and by providing misleading cues, they lead us to perceive as actual what isn’t happening at all. Here, it’s clear that we play a part in creating the illusion; we create something that doesn't truly exist. In other cases, even when the perceived fact is true, we can easily recognize that much of the perception is our own doing; for example, when we see a bird of prey and infer that there’s a carcass nearby, or when we read a partially erased inscription. In the latter case, the mind fills in the meaning, and possibly half the letters, yet we don’t hesitate to say that we actually read the inscription. Thus, in many instances, our inferences and interpretations contribute to what we consider facts. But this happens in many other cases where it’s less obvious at first. When someone sees an oak tree blown down by a strong wind, they regard the event as a Fact confirmed by their senses. Yet, by what sense do they perceive the force they attribute to the wind? How do they differentiate an oak tree from all other trees? Upon reflection, it’s clear that in such cases, their own mind supplies the concept of external force and pressure, allowing them to interpret the observed motions and identify the type of tree they notice. The concept of force, as well as the idea of specific resemblances and differences, are thus mixed with the sensory impressions and form an indistinguishable part of what we consider as the fact. It’s clear that we can only perceive force through observing motion; we cannot name any object without not only noticing differences among individual objects but also supposing differences among classes of objects. When we talk as if we can see impulse and attraction, things and classes, we are really just seeing objects of various shapes and colors, in different amounts and combinations. But do we really perceive even this much? When we observe an object’s shape, size, number, and motion, are these just raw sensory impressions, unaffected by any input or activity of the mind? A little attention will quickly show us that this isn't the case. When we see a windmill turning, it may happen, as noted elsewhere3, that we misjudge the direction of the sails’ movement: certain diagrams may appear to be either convex or concave: and when we see the moon on the horizon compared to when it’s high in the sky, we might think she appears larger in the former position, even though, from our perspective, she occupies the same angle. In these and similar cases, the errors and confusion we experience stem from the combination of mental processes with sensory impressions. Yet, as we’ve also observed, those mental processes are inseparable parts of the perception process. A certain level of mental activity is essential—not just for seeing objects inaccurately, but for seeing them at all. This is generally accepted when it comes to solid objects. When we seem to see a building occupying space in all dimensions, we actually only perceive a representation of it as it appears in perspective on a flat surface. The inference of solid form is a function of our own mind, whether we’re looking at a real object or a picture. But we can go further. Is a flat figure really just a sensation? When we look at a decagon, do we instantly see that it has ten sides, or do we have to count them—an act that involves the mind? All objects are perceived in space; all objects are seen as one or many: but aren’t the ideas of space and number necessary for us to understand what we see? That these concepts of space and number involve connections derived from the mind, not the senses, is evident, as we’ve previously established, by the fact that these concepts provide us with the materials for universal and necessary truths—truths that can’t be supplied by sensory experience. Thus, even the perception of facts like the size, shape, and number of objects can’t be reduced to mere sensory impressions, separate from all mental activity, and shouldn’t be expected to be free from error simply because they are perceived facts.
Thus the difficulty which we have been illustrating, of distinguishing Facts from inferences and from interpretations of facts, is not only great, but amounts to an impossibility. The separation at which we aimed in the outset of this discussion, and which was supposed to be necessary in order to obtain a firm groundwork for science, is found to be unattainable. We cannot obtain a sure basis of Facts, by rejecting all inferences and judgments of our own, for such inferences and judgments form an unavoidable element in all Facts. We cannot exclude our Ideas from our Perceptions, for our Perceptions involve our Ideas.
The challenge we've been discussing—distinguishing facts from inferences and interpretations of those facts—not only is significant but seems nearly impossible. The separation we aimed for at the beginning of this discussion, which we thought was essential to establish a solid foundation for science, turns out to be out of reach. We can't get a reliable basis of facts by dismissing all our own inferences and judgments because those inferences and judgments are an unavoidable part of all facts. We can't separate our ideas from our perceptions since our perceptions include our ideas.
3. But still, it cannot be doubted that in selecting the Facts which are to form the foundation of Science, 54 we must reduce them to their most simple and certain form; and must reject everything from which doubt or errour may arise. Now since this, it appears, cannot be done, by rejecting the Ideas which all Facts involve, in what manner are we to conform to the obvious maxim, that the Facts which form the basis of Science must be perfectly definite and certain?
3. However, there's no doubt that when we choose the facts that will form the foundation of science, 54 we need to simplify them to their most basic and certain forms; and we must eliminate anything that could lead to doubt or error. Since it seems we can't do this by discarding the ideas that all facts involve, how are we supposed to follow the clear principle that the facts that underpin science must be completely definite and certain?
The analysis of facts into Ideas and Sensations, which we have so often referred to, suggests the answer to this inquiry. We are not able, nor need we endeavour, to exclude Ideas from our Facts; but we may be able to discern, with perfect distinctness, the Ideas which we include. We cannot observe any phenomena without applying to them such Ideas as Space and Number, Cause and Resemblance, and usually, several others; but we may avoid applying these Ideas in a wavering or obscure manner, and confounding Ideas with one another. We cannot read any of the inscriptions which nature presents to us, without interpreting them by means of some language which we ourselves are accustomed to speak; but we may make it our business to acquaint ourselves perfectly with the language which we thus employ, and to interpret it according to the rigorous rules of grammar and analogy.
The analysis of facts into ideas and sensations, which we’ve mentioned frequently, suggests the answer to this question. We can't, nor do we need to, try to exclude ideas from our facts; however, we can clearly identify the ideas we include. We can't observe any phenomena without applying ideas like space, number, cause, and resemblance, along with usually several others; but we can avoid applying these ideas in a confused or unclear way, preventing them from mixing together. We can't read any of the signs that nature shows us without interpreting them using some language that we already know; but we can make it our goal to fully understand the language we use and to interpret it according to strict rules of grammar and analogy.
This maxim, that when Facts are employed as the basis of Science, we must distinguish clearly the Ideas which they involve, and must apply these in a distinct and rigorous manner, will be found to be a more precise guide than we might perhaps at first expect. We may notice one or two Rules which flow from it.
This principle states that when we use Facts as the foundation of Science, we need to clearly identify the Ideas they represent and apply these in a clear and strict way. This will turn out to be a more accurate guide than we might initially think. We can observe one or two Rules that stem from it.
4. In the first place. Facts, when used as the materials of physical Science, must be referred to Conceptions of the Intellect only, all emotions of fear, admiration, and the like, being rejected or subdued. Thus, the observations of phenomena which are related as portents and prodigies, striking terrour and boding evil, are of no value for purposes of science. The tales of armies seen warring in the sky, the sound of arms heard from the clouds, fiery dragons, chariots, swords seen in the air, may refer to meteorological phenomena; but the records of phenomena observed in the 55 state of mind which these descriptions imply can be of no scientific value. We cannot make the poets our observers.
4. First of all, facts used in physical science should be analyzed based solely on intellectual concepts, without being influenced by emotions like fear or admiration. Therefore, observations of phenomena that are interpreted as omens or extraordinary events, causing terror or predicting disaster, hold no scientific value. Stories of armies battling in the sky, the sound of weapons echoing from the clouds, fiery dragons, and chariots or swords seen in the atmosphere might relate to weather phenomena; however, the state of mind suggested by these descriptions does not contribute to science. We cannot rely on poets as our observers.
They heard; the Alps shook with unusual movements.
Voices are also heard through the quiet woods.
Huge; and the figures glowing in astonishing ways
Under the cover of night: the animals spoke.
The mixture of fancy and emotion with the observation of facts has often disfigured them to an extent which is too familiar to all to need illustration. We have an example of this result, in the manner in which Comets are described in the treatises of the middle ages. In such works, these bodies are regularly distributed into several classes, accordingly as they assume the form of a sword, of a spear, of a cross, and so on. When such resemblances had become matters of interest, the impressions of the senses were governed, not by the rigorous conceptions of form and colour, but by these assumed images; and under these circumstances, we can attach little value to the statement of what was seen.
The mix of imagination and emotion with the observation of facts has often distorted them to a point that is too well-known to need examples. A clear case of this can be found in how comets were described in medieval writings. In those texts, comets were typically categorized into various classes based on whether they looked like a sword, a spear, a cross, and so on. Once these comparisons became noteworthy, people's perceptions were influenced not by the strict definitions of shape and color but by these imagined images. Given this, we can hardly place much importance on the accuracy of what was reported.
In all such phenomena, the reference of the objects to the exact Ideas of Space, Number, Position, Motion, and the like, is the first step of Science: and accordingly, this reference was established at an early period in those sciences which made an early progress, as, for instance, Astronomy. Yet even in astronomy there appears to have been a period when the predominant conceptions of men in regarding the heavens and the stars pointed to mythical story and supernatural influence, rather than to mere relations of space, time, and motion: and of this primeval condition of those who gazed at the stars, we seem to have remnants in the Constellations, in the mythological Names of the Planets, and in the early prevalence of Astrology. It was only at a later period, when men had begun to measure the places, or at least to count the revolutions of the stars, that Astronomy had its birth.
In all these phenomena, linking the objects to the precise concepts of Space, Number, Position, Motion, and similar ideas is the first step of Science. This connection was made early on in the sciences that progressed quickly, such as Astronomy. However, even in astronomy, there seems to have been a time when people's main ideas about the heavens and the stars were rooted in mythological stories and supernatural influences, rather than just the basic relationships of space, time, and motion. We can still see remnants of this ancient perspective in the Constellations, the mythological Names of the Planets, and the early popularity of Astrology. It was only later, when people began to measure the locations or at least count the movements of the stars, that Astronomy truly began.
5. And thus we are led to another Rule:—that in collecting Facts which are to be made the basis of 56 Science, the Facts are to be observed, as far as possible, with reference to place, figure, number, motion, and the like Conceptions; which, depending upon the Ideas of Space and Time, are the most universal, exact, and simple of our conceptions. It was by early attention to these relations in the case of the heavenly bodies, that the ancients formed the science of Astronomy: it was by not making precise observations of this kind in the case of terrestrial bodies, that they failed in framing a science of the Mechanics of Motion. They succeeded in Optics as far as they made observations of this nature; but when they ceased to trace the geometrical paths of rays in the actual experiment, they ceased to go forwards in the knowledge of this subject.
5. This brings us to another rule: when collecting facts that will be the foundation of 56 science, the facts should be observed, as much as possible, with regard to place, shape, quantity, movement, and similar concepts; these, which rely on our understanding of space and time, are the most universal, precise, and straightforward of our ideas. The ancients developed the science of Astronomy by paying early attention to these relationships concerning celestial bodies; conversely, their failure to make detailed observations like this for earthly bodies hindered the formation of a science of Mechanics of Motion. They made progress in Optics to the extent that they conducted such observations; however, when they stopped tracing the geometric paths of rays in practical experiments, they halted their progress in understanding this field.
6. But we may state a further Rule:—that though these relations of Time and Space are highly important in almost all Facts, we are not to confine ourselves to these: but are to consider the phenomena with reference to other Conceptions also: it being always understood that these conceptions are to be made as exact and rigorous as those of geometry and number. Thus the science of Harmonics arose from considering sounds with reference to Concords and Discords; the science of Mechanics arose from not only observing motions as they take place in Time and Space, but further, referring them to Force as their Cause. And in like manner, other sciences depend upon other Ideas, which, as I have endeavoured to show, are not less fundamental than those of Time and Space; and like them, capable of leading to rigorous consequences.
6. However, we can establish another rule: while the relationships of Time and Space are very important in almost all Facts, we shouldn't limit ourselves to just those. We should also consider the phenomena in relation to other ideas as well: keeping in mind that these ideas should be as precise and strict as the concepts in geometry and mathematics. For example, the science of Harmonics developed by looking at sounds in terms of Concords and Discords; the science of Mechanics emerged not only by observing motions as they happen in Time and Space but also by relating them to Force as their Cause. Similarly, other sciences rely on other concepts, which, as I have attempted to demonstrate, are just as fundamental as those of Time and Space; and like them, can lead to precise outcomes.
7. Thus the Facts which we assume as the basis of Science are to be freed from all the mists which imagination and passion throw round them; and to be separated into those elementary Facts which exhibit simple and evident relations of Time, or Space, or Cause, or some other Ideas equally clear. We resolve the complex appearances which nature offers to us, and the mixed and manifold modes of looking at these appearances which rise in our thoughts, into limited, definite, and clearly-understood portions. This process we may term the Decomposition of Facts. It is the 57 beginning of exact knowledge,—the first step in the formation of all Science. This Decomposition of Facts into Elementary Facts, clearly understood and surely ascertained, must precede all discovery of the laws of nature.
7. So, the facts we consider the foundation of science need to be cleared of the confusion that imagination and emotions can create around them. They should be broken down into basic facts that show clear and simple relationships of time, space, cause, or other equally straightforward ideas. We analyze the complicated appearances that nature presents to us, as well as the various ways we think about these appearances, into clear, defined, and easily understood parts. We can call this process the Decomposition of Facts. It marks the start of precise knowledge—the first step in building all science. This decomposition of facts into elementary facts, which are clearly understood and reliably determined, must come before discovering the laws of nature.
8. But though this step is necessary, it is not infallibly sufficient. It by no means follows that when we have thus decomposed Facts into Elementary Truths of observation, we shall soon be able to combine these, so as to obtain Truths of a higher and more speculative kind. We have examples which show us how far this is from being a necessary consequence of the former step. Observations of the weather, made and recorded for many years, have not led to any general truths, forming a science of Meteorology: and although great numerical precision has been given to such observations by means of barometers, thermometers, and other instruments, still, no general laws regulating the cycles of change of such phenomena have yet been discovered. In like manner the faces of crystals, and the sides of the polygons which these crystals form, were counted, and thus numerical facts were obtained, perfectly true and definite, but still of no value for purposes of science. And when it was discovered what Element of the form of crystals it was important to observe and measure, namely, the Angle made by two faces with each other, this discovery was a step of a higher order, and did not belong to that department, of mere exact observation of manifest Facts, with which we are here concerned.
8. Although this step is necessary, it’s not always enough. It doesn’t automatically mean that once we break down facts into basic truths from observation, we’ll quickly be able to combine them to uncover deeper and more speculative truths. There are examples that show how this is not a guaranteed outcome of the previous step. Long-term weather observations, recorded over many years, haven’t led to any general truths that would form a science of Meteorology. Even though great numerical accuracy has been achieved with instruments like barometers, thermometers, and others, no overarching laws governing the cycles of these phenomena have been found yet. Similarly, while the faces of crystals and the sides of the polygons they create were counted, resulting in precise numerical facts, they were still not useful for scientific purposes. When it was figured out that the crucial element of crystal shape to observe and measure is the angle between two faces, this was a more advanced discovery that didn’t fall under the category of merely precise observation of obvious facts, which is what we’re focused on here.
9. When the Complex Facts which nature offers to us are thus decomposed into Simple Facts, the decomposition, in general, leads to the introduction of Terms and Phrases, more or less technical, by which these Simple Facts are described. When Astronomy was thus made a science of measurement, the things measured were soon described as Hours, and Days, and Cycles, Altitude and Declination, Phases and Aspects. In the same manner, in Music, the concords had names assigned them, as Diapente, Diatessaron, Diapason; in studying Optics, the Rays of light were spoken of as 58 having their course altered by Reflexion and Refraction; and when useful observations began to be made in Mechanics, the observers spoke of Force, Pressure, Momentum, Inertia, and the like.
9. When the complex facts that nature presents us are broken down into simple facts, this breakdown generally leads to the use of terms and phrases, which can be somewhat technical, to describe these simple facts. When Astronomy became a science of measurement, the things being measured were soon referred to as hours, days, cycles, altitude, and declination, phases, and aspects. Similarly, in Music, the harmonies were given names like diapente, diatessaron, and diapason; in the study of Optics, the rays of light were discussed in terms of how their paths were changed by reflection and refraction; and when practical observations started to emerge in Mechanics, the observers talked about force, pressure, momentum, inertia, and so on.
10. When we take phenomena in which the leading Idea is Resemblance, and resolve them into precise component Facts, we obtain some kind of Classification; as, for instance, when we lay down certain Rules by which particular trees, or particular animals are to be known. This is the earliest form of Natural History; and the Classification which it involves is that which corresponds, nearly or exactly, with the usual Names of the objects thus classified.
10. When we look at phenomena where the main idea is resemblance and break them down into specific component facts, we get some sort of classification; for example, when we establish certain rules for identifying specific trees or specific animals. This is the earliest form of natural history; and the classification it entails is one that closely matches, or exactly matches, the common names of the objects being classified.
11. Thus the first attempts to render observation certain and exact, lead to a decomposition of the obvious facts into Elementary Facts, connected by the Ideas of Space, Time, Number, Cause, Likeness, and others: and into a Classification of the Simple Facts; a classification more or less just, and marked by Names either common or technical. Elementary Facts, and Individual Objects, thus observed and classified, form the materials of Science; and any improvement in Classification or Nomenclature, or any discovery of a Connexion among the materials thus accumulated, leads us fairly within the precincts of Science. We must now, therefore, consider the manner in which Science is built up of such materials;—the process by which they are brought into their places, and the texture of the bond which unites and cements them.
11. So, the initial efforts to make observation accurate and precise lead to breaking down obvious facts into Elementary Facts, linked by the concepts of Space, Time, Number, Cause, Similarity, and others: and into a classification of Simple Facts; a classification that is more or less accurate and marked by names that are either general or technical. Elementary Facts and Individual Objects, when observed and classified, make up the building blocks of Science; and any improvement in Classification or Nomenclature, or any discovery of a Connection among the materials gathered, brings us closer to the realm of Science. We must now, therefore, examine how Science is constructed from these materials;—the process through which they are organized, and the way in which they are connected and held together.
CHAPTER IV.
Collating Facts.
Aphorism VII.
Aphorism 7.
Science begins with common observation of facts; but even at this stage, requires that the observations be precise. Hence the sciences which depend upon space and number were the earliest formed. After common observation, come Scientific Observation and Experiment.
Science starts with common observations of facts; however, even at this stage, it needs those observations to be accurate. That's why the sciences that rely on space and numbers were the first to be developed. Following common observation, we have Scientific Observation and Experiment.
Aphorism VIII.
Aphorism 8.
The Conceptions by which Facts are bound together, are suggested by the sagacity of discoverers. This sagacity cannot be taught. It commonly succeeds by guessing; and this success seems to consist in framing several tentative hypotheses and selecting the right one. But a supply of appropriate hypotheses cannot be constructed by rule, nor without inventive talent.
The ideas that connect facts come from the insight of discoverers. This insight can’t be taught. It usually works by making educated guesses, and that success involves creating several tentative hypotheses and picking the right one. However, you can’t create a set of suitable hypotheses by following strict rules, nor can you do it without creative talent.
Aphorism IX.
Aphorism 9.
The truth of tentative hypotheses must be tested by their application to facts. The discoverer must be ready, carefully to try his hypotheses in this manner, and to reject them if they will not bear the test, in spite of indolence and vanity.
The validity of tentative hypotheses needs to be tested through their application to facts. The researcher must be prepared to thoroughly test their hypotheses this way and reject them if they don't hold up, regardless of laziness and pride.
1. FACTS such as the last Chapter speaks of are, by means of such Conceptions as are described in the preceding Chapter, bound together so as to give rise to those general Propositions of which Science consists. Thus the Facts that the planets revolve 60 about the sun in certain periodic times and at certain distances, are included and connected in Kepler’s Law, by means of such Conceptions as the squares of numbers, the cubes of distances, and the proportionality of these quantities. Again the existence of this proportion in the motions of any two planets, forms a set of Facts which may all be combined by means of the Conception of a certain central accelerating force, as was proved by Newton. The whole of our physical knowledge consists in the establishment of such propositions; and in all such cases, Facts are bound together by the aid of suitable Conceptions. This part of the formation of our knowledge I have called the Colligation of Facts: and we may apply this term to every case in which, by an act of the intellect, we establish a precise connexion among the phenomena which are presented to our senses. The knowledge of such connexions, accumulated and systematized, is Science. On the steps by which science is thus collected from phenomena we shall proceed now to make a few remarks.
FACTS like those mentioned in the last chapter are connected through the ideas described in the previous chapter, leading to the general statements that form the basis of Science. For example, the facts that planets revolve around the sun in specific periodic times and at certain distances are tied together in Kepler’s Law using concepts such as squares of numbers, cubes of distances, and proportionality of these quantities. Additionally, the existence of this proportion in the movements of any two planets creates a set of facts that can all be related through the idea of a certain central accelerating force, as demonstrated by Newton. The entirety of our physical knowledge is built on establishing such propositions; in all these instances, facts are linked together by useful concepts. This process of forming our knowledge is what I refer to as the Colligation of Facts: we can use this term for any instance where, through intellectual action, we create a clear connection among the phenomena we observe. The understanding of these connections, accumulated and organized, is Science. Now, let's take a moment to discuss the methods by which science is derived from phenomena.
2. Science begins with Common Observation of facts, in which we are not conscious of any peculiar discipline or habit of thought exercised in observing. Thus the common perceptions of the appearances and recurrences of the celestial luminaries, were the first steps of Astronomy: the obvious cases in which bodies fall or are supported, were the beginning of Mechanics; the familiar aspects of visible things, were the origin of Optics; the usual distinctions of well-known plants, first gave rise to Botany. Facts belonging to such parts of our knowledge are noticed by us, and accumulated in our memories, in the common course of our habits, almost without our being aware that we are observing and collecting facts. Yet such facts may lead to many scientific truths; for instance, in the first stages of Astronomy (as we have shown in the History) such facts led to Methods of Intercalation and Rules of the Recurrence of Eclipses. In succeeding stages of science, more especial attention and preparation on the part of the observer, and a selection of certain 61 kinds of facts, becomes necessary; but there is an early period in the progress of knowledge at which man is a physical philosopher, without seeking to be so, or being aware that he is so.
2. Science starts with Common Observation of facts, where we aren't really aware of any specific discipline or thought process while observing. The basic observations of the appearances and movements of celestial bodies were the initial steps of Astronomy; the evident examples of how objects fall or are held up marked the beginning of Mechanics; the everyday views of visible things led to the origin of Optics; and the typical classifications of familiar plants first sparked Botany. We notice facts related to these areas of knowledge and store them in our memories in our usual routines, often without realizing we're observing and gathering information. Yet, these facts can lead to many scientific truths; for example, in the early days of Astronomy (as shown in the History), such facts resulted in Methods of Intercalation and Rules of Eclipse Recurrence. In later stages of science, greater attention and preparation from the observer and a selection of specific 61 types of facts become essential; however, there is an earlier phase in the advancement of knowledge where a person is a physical philosopher without actively trying to be one or even realizing they are.
3. But in all stages of the progress, even in that early one of which we have just spoken, it is necessary, in order that the facts may be fit materials of any knowledge, that they should be decomposed into Elementary Facts, and that these should be observed with precision. Thus, in the first infancy of astronomy, the recurrence of phases of the moon, of places of the sun’s rising and setting, of planets, of eclipses, was observed to take place at intervals of certain definite numbers of days, and in a certain exact order; and thus it was, that the observations became portions of astronomical science. In other cases, although the facts were equally numerous, and their general aspect equally familiar, they led to no science, because their exact circumstances were not apprehended. A vague and loose mode of looking at facts very easily observable, left men for a long time under the belief that a body, ten times as heavy as another, falls ten times as fast;—that objects immersed in water are always magnified, without regard to the form of the surface;—that the magnet exerts an irresistible force;—that crystal is always found associated with ice;—and the like. These and many others are examples how blind and careless men can be, even in observation of the plainest and commonest appearances; and they show us that the mere faculties of perception, although constantly exercised upon innumerable objects, may long fail in leading to any exact knowledge.
3. But in all stages of progress, even in that early one we just mentioned, it's important for the facts to be broken down into Basic Facts so that they can become useful for knowledge and observed precisely. For example, in the early days of astronomy, people noticed that the phases of the moon, the positions of the sun's rising and setting, the locations of planets, and eclipses happened at certain regular intervals of days and in a specific order. This is how these observations became part of astronomical science. In other cases, even though there were many facts and they seemed familiar, they didn’t lead to any science because their specific details weren’t understood. A vague and careless way of looking at easily observable facts left people for a long time believing that a body ten times heavier than another falls ten times faster; that objects submerged in water are always enlarged, regardless of the shape of the surface; that magnets have an unstoppable force; that crystals are always found with ice; and similar misconceptions. These, and many more, show how blind and careless people can be, even when observing the simplest and most common things; and they demonstrate that just having the ability to perceive, even when applied to countless objects, can still fail to lead to precise knowledge for a long time.
4. If we further inquire what was the favourable condition through which some special classes of facts were, from the first, fitted to become portions of science, we shall find it to have been principally this;—that these facts were considered with reference to the Ideas of Time, Number, and Space, which are Ideas possessing peculiar definiteness and precision; so that with regard to them, confusion and indistinctness are hardly possible. The interval from new moon to new 62 moon was always a particular number of days: the sun in his yearly course rose and set near to a known succession of distant objects: the moon’s path passed among the stars in a certain order:—these are observations in which mistake and obscurity are not likely to occur, if the smallest degree of attention is bestowed upon the task. To count a number is, from the first opening of man’s mental faculties, an operation which no science can render more precise. The relations of space are nearest to those of number in obvious and universal evidence. Sciences depending upon these Ideas arise with the first dawn of intellectual civilization. But few of the other Ideas which man employs in the acquisition of knowledge possess this clearness in their common use. The Idea of Resemblance may be noticed, as coming next to those of Space and Number in original precision; and the Idea of Cause, in a certain vague and general mode of application, sufficient for the purposes of common life, but not for the ends of science, exercises a very extensive influence over men’s thoughts. But the other Ideas on which science depends, with the Conceptions which arise out of them, are not unfolded till a much later period of intellectual progress; and therefore, except in such limited cases as I have noticed, the observations of common spectators and uncultivated nations, however numerous or varied, are of little or no effect in giving rise to Science.
4. If we look into what made certain specific facts suitable for becoming part of science from the beginning, we’ll find it primarily comes down to this: these facts were viewed through the lens of the Ideas of Time, Number, and Space, which have a unique clarity and accuracy. Because of this, confusion and ambiguity are almost impossible. The time from one new moon to the next has always been a specific number of days; the sun, in its yearly path, rises and sets near a known order of distant objects; the moon travels through the stars in a defined sequence—these are observations where mistakes and unclear interpretations are unlikely if even a little attention is paid. Counting is one operation that, from the very beginning of human thought, no science can make more accurate. The relationships in space are the most evident and universally recognized like those of number. Sciences that rely on these Ideas emerge with the earliest signs of intellectual civilization. But few of the other Ideas people use to gain knowledge have this clarity in everyday use. The Idea of Resemblance can be noted as coming next in clarity to Space and Number; and the Idea of Cause, in a somewhat vague and general way that works for everyday life but not for scientific purposes, significantly influences people's thinking. The other Ideas forming the foundation of science, along with the concepts derived from them, don't emerge until much later in intellectual development; thus, aside from a few limited instances I've mentioned, observations from ordinary people and uncivilized nations, regardless of how numerous or diverse, have little to no impact on the formation of Science.
5. Let us now suppose that, besides common everyday perception of facts, we turn our attention to some other occurrences and appearances, with a design of obtaining from them speculative knowledge. This process is more peculiarly called Observation, or, when we ourselves occasion the facts, Experiment. But the same remark which we have already made, still holds good here. These facts can be of no value, except they are resolved into those exact Conceptions which contain the essential circumstances of the case. They must be determined, not indeed necessarily, as has sometimes been said, ‘according to Number, Weight, and Measure;’ for, as we have endeavoured to show 63 in the preceding Books4, there are many other Conceptions to which phenomena may be subordinated, quite different from these, and yet not at all less definite and precise. But in order that the facts obtained by observation and experiment may be capable of being used in furtherance of our exact and solid knowledge, they must be apprehended and analysed according to some Conceptions which, applied for this purpose, give distinct and definite results, such as can be steadily taken hold of and reasoned from; that is, the facts must be referred to Clear and Appropriate Ideas, according to the manner in which we have already explained this condition of the derivation of our knowledge. The phenomena of light, when they are such as to indicate sides in the ray, must be referred to the Conception of polarization; the phenomena of mixture, when there is an alteration of qualities as well as quantities, must be combined by a Conception of elementary composition. And thus, when mere position, and number, and resemblance, will no longer answer the purpose of enabling us to connect the facts, we call in other Ideas, in such cases more efficacious, though less obvious.
5. Now let’s assume that, in addition to our everyday perception of facts, we focus on other events and appearances to gain speculative knowledge. This process is more specifically known as Observation, or, when we create the facts ourselves, Experiment. However, the same point we made earlier still applies here. These facts are only valuable if they are broken down into the exact concepts that contain the essential details of the situation. They must be defined, not necessarily as has sometimes been claimed, ‘according to Number, Weight, and Measure;’ because, as we have tried to show 63 in the previous Books4, there are many other concepts to which phenomena can be related, which are quite different from those, yet still just as clear and specific. But for the facts obtained through observation and experimentation to be useful in advancing our precise and solid knowledge, they must be understood and analyzed according to some concepts that, when applied for this purpose, yield clear and definite results that can be consistently grasped and reasoned from. In other words, the facts must be linked to clear and appropriate ideas, as we have already explained regarding the derivation of our knowledge. The phenomena of light, when they indicate directions in the ray, must be linked to the concept of polarization; the phenomena of mixtures, when there is a change in both qualities and quantities, must be grouped under the concept of elementary composition. Thus, when simple position, number, and resemblance no longer suffice to connect the facts, we turn to other ideas, which, in these situations, are more effective, though less obvious.
6. But how are we, in these cases, to discover such Ideas, and to judge which will be efficacious, in leading to a scientific combination of our experimental data? To this question, we must in the first place answer, that the first and great instrument by which facts, so observed with a view to the formation of exact knowledge, are combined into important and permanent truths, is that peculiar Sagacity which belongs to the genius of a Discoverer; and which, while it supplies those distinct and appropriate Conceptions which lead to its success, cannot be limited by rules, or expressed in definitions. It would be difficult or impossible to describe in words the habits of thought which led Archimedes to refer the conditions of equilibrium on the Lever to the Conception of pressure, while Aristotle could not see in them anything more than the results 64 of the strangeness of the properties of the circle;—or which impelled Pascal to explain by means of the Conception of the weight of air, the facts which his predecessors had connected by the notion of nature’s horrour of a vacuum;—or which caused Vitello and Roger Bacon to refer the magnifying power of a convex lens to the bending of the rays of light towards the perpendicular by refraction, while others conceived the effect to result from the matter of medium, with no consideration of its form. These are what are commonly spoken of as felicitous and inexplicable strokes of inventive talent; and such, no doubt, they are. No rules can ensure to us similar success in new cases; or can enable men who do not possess similar endowments, to make like advances in knowledge.
6. But how can we, in these situations, discover such ideas and determine which will effectively lead to a scientific combination of our experimental data? To answer this question, we must first recognize that the primary and significant tool for combining facts—observed with the aim of forming accurate knowledge—into important and lasting truths is that unique insight that belongs to the genius of a discoverer. This insight provides distinct and relevant concepts that lead to success but cannot be constrained by rules or defined in words. It would be challenging or impossible to articulate the thought processes that led Archimedes to connect the conditions of equilibrium on the lever to the concept of pressure, while Aristotle only perceived them as results of the unusual properties of the circle; or those that drove Pascal to explain using the concept of the weight of air, the phenomena that his predecessors linked to nature’s dread of a vacuum; or the reasoning of Vitello and Roger Bacon, who attributed the magnifying power of a convex lens to the bending of light rays towards the perpendicular through refraction, while others believed the effect stemmed merely from the medium's material, disregarding its shape. These are often described as fortunate and inexplicable moments of inventive brilliance, and indeed, they are. No rules can guarantee similar success in new situations, nor can they enable individuals who lack similar abilities to achieve equivalent advancements in knowledge.
7. Yet still, we may do something in tracing the process by which such discoveries are made; and this it is here our business to do. We may observe that these, and the like discoveries, are not improperly described as happy Guesses; and that Guesses, in these as in other instances, imply various suppositions made, of which some one turns out to be the right one. We may, in such cases, conceive the discoverer as inventing and trying many conjectures, till he finds one which answers the purpose of combining the scattered facts into a single rule. The discovery of general truths from special facts is performed, commonly at least, and more commonly than at first appears, by the use of a series of Suppositions, or Hypotheses, which are looked at in quick succession, and of which the one which really leads to truth is rapidly detected, and when caught sight of, firmly held, verified, and followed to its consequences. In the minds of most discoverers, this process of invention, trial, and acceptance or rejection of the hypothesis, goes on so rapidly that we cannot trace it in its successive steps. But in some instances, we can do so; and we can also see that the other examples of discovery do not differ essentially from these. The same intellectual operations take place in other cases, although this often happens so instantaneously that we lose the trace of the 65 progression. In the discoveries made by Kepler, we have a curious and memorable exhibition of this process in its details. Thanks to his communicative disposition, we know that he made nineteen hypotheses with regard to the motion of Mars, and calculated the results of each, before he established the true doctrine, that the planet’s path is an ellipse. We know, in like manner, that Galileo made wrong suppositions respecting the laws of falling bodies, and Mariotte, concerning the motion of water in a siphon, before they hit upon the correct view of these cases.
7. However, we can still look into how such discoveries are made, and that’s what we’re here to do. We can see that these kinds of discoveries are often referred to as happy Guesses; and that Guesses, just like in other situations, involve various assumptions, one of which ends up being right. In these instances, we can imagine the discoverer creating and testing many ideas until they find one that effectively combines the scattered facts into a single rule. Discovering general truths from specific facts is usually done, and more often than it initially seems, by using a series of assumptions or Hypotheses, which are quickly evaluated, and the one that ultimately leads to the truth is swiftly identified, and once recognized, is firmly held, verified, and followed to its conclusions. For most discoverers, this process of invention, testing, and deciding whether to accept or reject the hypothesis happens so quickly that we can’t trace its individual steps. But in some cases, we can see it clearly; we can also note that other examples of discovery aren’t fundamentally different from these. The same types of intellectual operations occur in other cases, even though they often happen so fast that we lose track of the 65 progression. In the discoveries made by Kepler, we have an interesting and notable illustration of this process in detail. Thanks to his willingness to share, we know that he proposed nineteen hypotheses regarding the motion of Mars and calculated the outcomes of each before he established the correct idea that the planet’s path is an ellipse. Similarly, we know that Galileo made incorrect assumptions about the laws of falling bodies, and Mariotte did the same regarding the motion of water in a siphon, before they arrived at the correct understanding of those situations.
8. But it has very often happened in the history of science, that the erroneous hypotheses which preceded the discovery of the truth have been made, not by the discoverer himself, but by his precursors; to whom he thus owed the service, often an important one in such cases, of exhausting the most tempting forms of errour. Thus the various fruitless suppositions by which Kepler endeavoured to discover the law of reflection, led the way to its real detection by Snell; Kepler’s numerous imaginations concerning the forces by which the celestial motions are produced,—his ‘physical reasonings’ as he termed them,—were a natural prelude to the truer physical reasonings of Newton. The various hypotheses by which the suspension of vapour in air had been explained, and their failure, left the field open for Dalton with his doctrine of the mechanical mixture of gases. In most cases, if we could truly analyze the operation of the thoughts of those who make, or who endeavour to make discoveries in science, we should find that many more suppositions pass through their minds than those which are expressed in words; many a possible combination of conceptions is formed and soon rejected. There is a constant invention and activity, a perpetual creating and selecting power at work, of which the last results only are exhibited to us. Trains of hypotheses are called up and pass rapidly in review; and the judgment makes its choice from the varied group.
8. However, it has often happened in the history of science that the incorrect ideas leading up to the discovery of the truth were not created by the discoverer themselves, but by those who came before them. These predecessors played a crucial role in exploring the most appealing forms of error. For example, the various unsuccessful ideas Kepler used to try to figure out the law of reflection paved the way for its actual discovery by Snell. Kepler’s many thoughts about the forces behind celestial movements—what he called his "physical reasonings"—were a natural precursor to Newton’s more accurate physical reasonings. The different theories that attempted to explain the suspension of vapor in air, along with their failures, cleared the path for Dalton and his theory of the mechanical mixture of gases. If we could truly analyze the thought processes of those who make or try to make discoveries in science, we would likely find that far more ideas pass through their minds than those that are ever spoken. Countless potential combinations of ideas are formed and quickly dismissed. There is a constant cycle of invention and activity, a continuous process of creating and selecting, of which only the final results are shown to us. Chains of hypotheses are generated and swiftly reviewed; the judgment then makes its choice from the diverse array.
9. It would, however, be a great mistake to suppose that the hypotheses, among which our choice thus 66 lies, are constructed by an enumeration of obvious cases, or by a wanton alteration of relations which occur in some first hypothesis. It may, indeed, sometimes happen that the proposition which is finally established is such as may be formed, by some slight alteration, from those which are justly rejected. Thus Kepler’s elliptical theory of Mars’s motions, involved relations of lines and angles much of the same nature as his previous false suppositions: and the true law of refraction so much resembles those erroneous ones which Kepler tried, that we cannot help wondering how he chanced to miss it. But it more frequently happens that new truths are brought into view by the application of new Ideas, not by new modifications of old ones. The cause of the properties of the Lever was learnt, not by introducing any new geometrical combination of lines and circles, but by referring the properties to genuine mechanical Conceptions. When the Motions of the Planets were to be explained, this was done, not by merely improving the previous notions, of cycles of time, but by introducing the new conception of epicycles in space. The doctrine of the Four Simple Elements was expelled, not by forming any new scheme of elements which should impart, according to new rules, their sensible qualities to their compounds, but by considering the elements of bodies as neutralizing each other. The Fringes of Shadows could not be explained by ascribing new properties to the single rays of light, but were reduced to law by referring them to the interference of several rays.
9. However, it would be a big mistake to think that the hypotheses we choose from are created by simply listing obvious cases or by randomly changing the relationships found in some initial hypothesis. It can happen that the final proposition established is formed from a slight alteration of those that are justly rejected. For example, Kepler’s elliptical theory of Mars’s motions involved relationships of lines and angles similar to his earlier false assumptions: and the true law of refraction closely resembles those incorrect ideas Kepler explored, making us wonder how he missed it. More often, new truths come to light through the application of fresh ideas, not through new tweaks to old ones. The reason behind the properties of the Lever was discovered not by introducing any new geometric combinations of lines and circles, but by connecting the properties to genuine mechanical concepts. When explaining the motions of the planets, this was achieved, not by merely upgrading previous ideas of cycles of time, but by introducing the new concept of epicycles in space. The theory of the Four Simple Elements was dismissed, not by creating a new scheme of elements that would impart their sensory qualities to their compounds according to new rules, but by viewing the elements of bodies as neutralizing each other. The Fringes of Shadows couldn’t be explained by giving new properties to individual rays of light; instead, they were understood through the interference of multiple rays.
Since the true supposition is thus very frequently something altogether diverse from all the obvious conjectures and combinations, we see here how far we are from being able to reduce discovery to rule, or to give any precepts by which the want of real invention and sagacity shall be supplied. We may warn and encourage these faculties when they exist, but we cannot create them, or make great discoveries when they are absent.
Since the actual assumption is often completely different from all the obvious guesses and combinations, it shows us how far we are from being able to reduce discovery to a formula or to provide any guidelines that can compensate for a lack of true creativity and insight. We can encourage and support these abilities when they are present, but we cannot create them or achieve major discoveries when they are missing.
10. The Conceptions which a true theory requires are very often clothed in a Hypothesis which connects 67 with them several superfluous and irrelevant circumstances. Thus the Conception of the Polarization of Light was originally represented under the image of particles of light having their poles all turned in the same direction. The Laws of Heat may be made out perhaps most conveniently by conceiving Heat to be a Fluid. The Attraction of Gravitation might have been successfully applied to the explanation of facts, if Newton had throughout treated Attraction as the result of an Ether diffused through space; a supposition which he has noticed as a possibility. The doctrine of Definite and Multiple Proportions may be conveniently expressed by the hypothesis of Atoms. In such cases, the Hypothesis may serve at first to facilitate the introduction of a new Conception. Thus a pervading Ether might for a time remove a difficulty, which some persons find considerable, of imagining a body to exert force at a distance. A Particle with Poles is more easily conceived than Polarization in the abstract. And if hypotheses thus employed will really explain the facts by means of a few simple assumptions, the laws so obtained may afterwards be reduced to a simpler form than that in which they were first suggested. The general laws of Heat, of Attraction, of Polarization, of Multiple Proportions, are now certain, whatever image we may form to ourselves of their ultimate causes.
10. The ideas that a solid theory needs are often wrapped up in a Hypothesis that links 67 them to various unnecessary and irrelevant details. For example, the idea of the Polarization of Light was initially visualized as particles of light all having their poles aligned in the same direction. The Laws of Heat might be best understood by imagining Heat as a Fluid. The concept of Gravitation could have been effectively used to explain phenomena if Newton had consistently viewed Attraction as the outcome of an Ether spread throughout space, a notion he acknowledged as a possibility. The principles of Definite and Multiple Proportions can be conveniently described using the hypothesis of Atoms. In such situations, the Hypothesis can initially help introduce a new idea. For instance, a pervasive Ether might temporarily alleviate the difficulty some people have in visualizing how an object can exert force from a distance. A Particle with Poles is easier to picture than Polarization in an abstract sense. And if these hypotheses can genuinely clarify the facts based on a few simple assumptions, the established laws can later be simplified beyond their initial formulation. The broad laws of Heat, Attraction, Polarization, and Multiple Proportions are now established, regardless of the images we create about their underlying causes.
11. In order, then, to discover scientific truths, suppositions consisting either of new Conceptions, or of new Combinations of old ones, are to be made, till we find one supposition which succeeds in binding together the Facts. But how are we to find this? How is the trial to be made? What is meant by ‘success’ in these cases? To this we reply, that our inquiry must be, whether the Facts have the same relation in the Hypothesis which they have in reality;—whether the results of our suppositions agree with the phenomena which nature presents to us. For this purpose, we must both carefully observe the phenomena, and steadily trace the consequences of our assumptions, till we can 68 bring the two into comparison. The Conceptions which our hypotheses involve, being derived from certain Fundamental Ideas, afford a basis of rigorous reasoning, as we have shown in the Books of the History of those Ideas. And the results to which this reasoning leads, will be susceptible of being verified or contradicted by observation of the facts. Thus the Epicyclical Theory of the Moon, once assumed, determined what the moon’s place among the stars ought to be at any given time, and could therefore be tested by actually observing the moon’s places. The doctrine that musical strings of the same length, stretched with weights of 1, 4, 9, 16, would give the musical intervals of an octave, a fifth, a fourth, in succession, could be put to the trial by any one whose ear was capable of appreciating those intervals: and the inference which follows from this doctrine by numerical reasoning,—that there must be certain imperfections in the concords of every musical scale,—could in like manner be confirmed by trying various modes of Temperament. In like manner all received theories in science, up to the present time, have been established by taking up some supposition, and comparing it, directly or by means of its remoter consequences, with the facts it was intended to embrace. Its agreement, under certain cautions and conditions, of which we may hereafter speak, is held to be the evidence of its truth. It answers its genuine purpose, the Colligation of Facts.
11. To uncover scientific truths, we need to create hypotheses based on either new ideas or new combinations of existing ones until we find one that successfully connects the facts. But how do we find this? How do we conduct the test? What does 'success' mean in these cases? We respond that our investigation should determine whether the facts have the same relationships in the hypothesis as they do in reality—whether the outcomes of our hypotheses align with the phenomena nature shows us. For this, we must carefully observe the phenomena and closely trace the implications of our assumptions until we can compare the two. The ideas inherent in our hypotheses are based on certain foundational concepts, which provide a basis for rigorous reasoning, as we've discussed in the Books of the History of those Ideas. The conclusions drawn from this reasoning can be verified or disproven by observing the facts. For example, the Epicyclical Theory of the Moon, once assumed, predicted the moon’s position among the stars at any given time, which could then be tested by observing the moon’s actual positions. The theory that musical strings of the same length, under weights of 1, 4, 9, and 16, would create the musical intervals of an octave, a fifth, and a fourth in succession could be tested by anyone who could recognize those intervals. Furthermore, the conclusion drawn from this theory through numerical reasoning—that imperfections must exist in the harmonies of every musical scale—could also be confirmed by experimenting with various forms of Temperament. Similarly, all accepted scientific theories to date have been established by proposing some hypothesis and comparing it, either directly or through its broader consequences, with the facts it aims to explain. Its alignment, under certain precautions and conditions, which we will discuss later, is considered proof of its validity. It fulfills its true purpose, which is the connection of facts.
12. When we have, in any subject, succeeded in one attempt of this kind, and obtained some true Bond of Unity by which the phenomena are held together, the subject is open to further prosecution; which ulterior process may, for the most part, be conducted in a more formal and technical manner. The first great outline of the subject is drawn; and the finishing of the resemblance of nature demands a more minute pencilling, but perhaps requires less of genius in the master. In the pursuance of this task, rules and precepts may be given, and features and leading circumstances pointed out, of which it may often be useful to the inquirer to be aware. 69
12. Once we’ve successfully tackled a subject and found a true Bond of Unity that connects the phenomena, we can explore it further; this follow-up work can often be done in a more formal and technical way. The main outline of the subject is established, and finishing the likeness to nature requires more detailed work, but maybe less creativity from the master. In pursuing this task, we can provide rules and guidelines, highlighting key features and important circumstances that can be helpful for the person investigating the topic. 69
Before proceeding further, I shall speak of some characteristic marks which belong to such scientific processes as are now the subject of our consideration, and which may sometimes aid us in determining when the task has been rightly executed.
Before going any further, I want to discuss some characteristic features of the scientific processes we are currently examining, which may help us determine when the task has been done correctly.
CHAPTER V.
On Certain Traits of Scientific Induction.
Aphorism X.
Aphorism X.
The process of scientific discovery is cautious and rigorous, not by abstaining from hypotheses, but by rigorously comparing hypotheses with facts, and by resolutely rejecting all which the comparison does not confirm.
The process of scientific discovery is careful and thorough, not by avoiding hypotheses, but by rigorously comparing them with facts and firmly rejecting any that the comparison does not support.
Aphorism XI.
Aphorism XI.
Hypotheses may be useful, though involving much that is superfluous, and even erroneous: for they may supply the true bond of connexion of the facts; and the superfluity and errour may afterwards be pared away.
Hypotheses can be helpful, even if they include a lot that is unnecessary and sometimes wrong: because they can provide the true connection between the facts; and the unnecessary parts and mistakes can be trimmed away later.
Aphorism XII.
Aphorism XII.
It is a test of true theories not only to account for, but to predict phenomena.
A true theory isn't just about explaining things; it's also about predicting what will happen.
Aphorism XIII.
Aphorism XIII.
Induction is a term applied to describe the process of a true Colligation of Facts by means of an exact and appropriate Conception. An Induction is also employed to denote the proposition which results from this process.
Induction is a term used to describe the process of accurately connecting facts through a precise and suitable concept. An induction is also used to refer to the proposition that comes from this process.
Aphorism XIV.
Aphorism XIV.
The Consilience of Inductions takes place when an Induction, obtained from one class of facts, coincides with an Induction, obtained from another different class. This 71 Consilience is a test of the truth of the Theory in which it occurs.
The Consilience of Inductions happens when an Induction, derived from one group of facts, aligns with an Induction, derived from another distinct group. This 71 Consilience serves as a test for the validity of the Theory in which it appears.
Aphorism XV.
Aphorism 15.
An Induction is not the mere sum of the Facts which are colligated. The Facts are not only brought together, but seen in a new point of view. A new mental Element is superinduced; and a peculiar constitution and discipline of mind are requisite in order to make this Induction.
An induction isn't just the simple collection of the facts that are gathered. The facts are not only combined, but viewed from a different perspective. A new mental element is introduced; and a specific mindset and training are needed to make this induction happen.
Aphorism XVI.
Aphorism 16.
Although in Every Induction a new conception is superinduced upon the Facts; yet this once effectually done, the novelty of the conception is overlooked, and the conception is considered as a part of the fact.
Even though every induction adds a new idea to the facts, once this is successfully accomplished, the newness of the idea is ignored, and it becomes seen as just another part of the fact.
Sect. I.—Invention a part of Induction.
Sect. 1.—Invention as a part of Induction.
1. THE two operations spoken of in the preceding chapters,—the Explication of the Conceptions of our own minds, and the Colligation of observed Facts by the aid of such Conceptions,—are, as we have just said, inseparably connected with each other. When united, and employed in collecting knowledge from the phenomena which the world presents to us, they constitute the mental process of Induction; which is usually and justly spoken of as the genuine source of all our real general knowledge respecting the external world. And we see, from the preceding analysis of this process into its two constituents, from what origin it derives each of its characters. It is real, because it arises from the combination of Real Facts, but it is general, because it implies the possession of General Ideas. Without the former, it would not be knowledge of the External World; without the latter, it would not be Knowledge at all. When Ideas and Facts are separated from each other, the neglect of Facts gives rise to empty speculations, idle subtleties, visionary inventions, false opinions concerning the laws of phenomena, disregard of the true aspect of nature: 72 while the want of Ideas leaves the mind overwhelmed, bewildered, and stupified by particular sensations, with no means of connecting the past with the future, the absent with the present, the example with the rule; open to the impression of all appearances, but capable of appropriating none. Ideas are the Form, facts the Material, of our structure. Knowledge does not consist in the empty mould, or in the brute mass of matter, but in the rightly-moulded substance. Induction gathers general truths from particular facts;—and in her harvest, the corn and the reaper, the solid ears and the binding band, are alike requisite. All our knowledge of nature is obtained by Induction; the term being understood according to the explanation we have now given. And our knowledge is then most complete, then most truly deserves the name of Science, when both its elements are most perfect;—when the Ideas which have been concerned in its formation have, at every step, been clear and consistent; and when they have, at every step also, been employed in binding together real and certain Facts. Of such Induction, I have already given so many examples and illustrations in the two preceding chapters, that I need not now dwell further upon the subject.
THE two processes discussed in the earlier chapters—the interpretation of our own thoughts and the organization of observed facts using those thoughts—are, as we’ve just mentioned, closely linked. When combined and used to gather knowledge from the phenomena the world presents, they form the mental process of Induction, which is rightly considered the real source of all our true general knowledge about the external world. From the previous breakdown of this process into its two components, we can see how it gains each of its characteristics. It is real because it comes from the combination of actual facts, but it is general because it requires the possession of general ideas. Without the former, it wouldn’t represent knowledge of the external world; without the latter, it wouldn’t be knowledge at all. When ideas and facts are disconnected, ignoring facts leads to empty theories, pointless complexities, unrealistic ideas, and misconceptions about the laws of nature, while disregarding the true nature of reality: 72 whereas a lack of ideas leaves the mind confused and overwhelmed by specific sensations, without a way to link past experiences with future ones, the absent with the present, or examples with rules; it’s open to all appearances but can’t grasp any. Ideas are the Form, and facts are the Material of our understanding. Knowledge doesn’t exist in an empty mold or in a raw mass of matter, but in the well-shaped substance. Induction collects general truths from specific facts; in this process, both the grain and the reaper, the solid ears and the binding thread, are equally necessary. All our understanding of nature comes from Induction, with the term understood in light of the explanation we’ve just provided. Our knowledge is complete and truly deserves the title of Science when both elements are perfected—when the ideas involved in its creation are clear and consistent at every stage, and when they are consistently used to connect real and certain facts. I have already provided numerous examples and illustrations of such Induction in the earlier chapters, so there’s no need to elaborate further on the topic now.
2. Induction is familiarly spoken of as the process by which we collect a General Proposition from a number of Particular Cases: and it appears to be frequently imagined that the general proposition results from a mere juxta-position of the cases, or at most, from merely conjoining and extending them. But if we consider the process more closely, as exhibited in the cases lately spoken of, we shall perceive that this is an inadequate account of the matter. The particular facts are not merely brought together, but there is a New Element added to the combination by the very act of thought by which they are combined. There is a Conception of the mind introduced in the general proposition, which did not exist in any of the observed facts. When the Greeks, after long observing the motions of the planets, saw that these motions might be rightly considered as produced by the motion of one 73 wheel revolving in the inside of another wheel, these Wheels were Creations of their minds, added to the Facts which they perceived by sense. And even if the wheels were no longer supposed to be material, but were reduced to mere geometrical spheres or circles, they were not the less products of the mind alone,—something additional to the facts observed. The same is the case in all other discoveries. The facts are known, but they are insulated and unconnected, till the discoverer supplies from his own stores a Principle of Connexion. The pearls are there, but they will not hang together till some one provides the String. The distances and periods of the planets were all so many separate facts; by Kepler’s Third Law they are connected into a single truth: but the Conceptions which this law involves were supplied by Kepler’s mind, and without these, the facts were of no avail. The planets described ellipses round the sun, in the contemplation of others as well as of Newton; but Newton conceived the deflection from the tangent in these elliptical motions in a new light,—as the effect of a Central Force following a certain law; and then it was, that such a force was discovered truly to exist.
2. Induction is commonly understood as the process by which we derive a General Proposition from several Particular Cases: and it is often thought that the general proposition comes from simply placing the cases together, or at most, from just linking and expanding them. However, if we examine the process more closely, as shown in the cases mentioned earlier, we will realize that this is an incomplete explanation. The particular facts are not just assembled; a new element is added to the mix by the very act of thought that combines them. There is a concept introduced in the general proposition that didn't exist in any of the observed facts. When the ancient Greeks, after observing the movements of the planets for a long time, recognized that these motions could be understood as the result of one 73 wheel turning inside another wheel, those wheels were creations of their imagination, added to the facts they perceived through their senses. Even if the wheels were no longer viewed as physical objects, but were simplified to just geometric spheres or circles, they were still products of the mind alone—something extra beyond the observed facts. The same applies to all other discoveries. The facts are known, but they remain isolated and unconnected until the discoverer provides a principle of connection from their own insights. The pearls are there, but they won’t string together until someone provides the string. The distances and periods of the planets were separate facts; through Kepler’s Third Law, they become interconnected into a single truth: but the concepts that this law entails were generated by Kepler’s mind, and without these, the facts were useless. The planets moved in ellipses around the sun, noticed by others as well as Newton; but Newton perceived the deviation from the tangent in these elliptical motions in a new way—as the effect of a central force obeying a certain law; and that’s when it was discovered that such a force truly existed.
Thus5 in each inference made by Induction, there is introduced some General Conception, which is given, not by the phenomena, but by the mind. The conclusion is not contained in the premises, but includes them by the introduction of a New Generality. In order to obtain our inference, we travel beyond the cases which we have before us; we consider them as mere exemplifications of some Ideal Case in which the relations are complete and intelligible. We take a Standard, and measure the facts by it; and this Standard is constructed by us, not offered by Nature. We assert, for example, that a body left to itself will move on with unaltered velocity; not because our senses ever disclosed to us a body doing this, but because (taking this as our Ideal Case) we find that all 74 actual cases are intelligible and explicable by means of the Conception of Forces, causing change and motion, and exerted by surrounding bodies. In like manner, we see bodies striking each other, and thus moving and stopping, accelerating and retarding each other: but in all this, we do not perceive by our senses that abstract quantity, Momentum, which is always lost by one body as it is gained by another. This Momentum is a creation of the mind, brought in among the facts, in order to convert their apparent confusion into order, their seeming chance into certainty, their perplexing variety into simplicity. This the Conception of Momentum gained and lost does: and in like manner, in any other case in which a truth is established by Induction, some Conception is introduced, some Idea is applied, as the means of binding together the facts, and thus producing the truth.
Thus5 in every inference made through Induction, there is a General Concept introduced, which is provided, not by the phenomena, but by the mind. The conclusion isn't found within the premises but expands on them through the introduction of a New Generality. To arrive at our inference, we look beyond the specific cases in front of us; we consider them as mere examples of an Ideal Case in which the relationships are complete and clear. We take a Standard and evaluate the facts against it; and this Standard is created by us, not given by Nature. We claim, for instance, that a body left alone will continue to move at a constant speed; not because our senses have ever shown us a body doing this, but because (using this as our Ideal Case) we find that all actual instances are understandable and explainable through the concept of Forces, which cause change and motion, exerted by surrounding bodies. Similarly, we observe bodies colliding, thus moving and stopping, speeding up and slowing each other down: but in all of this, we don’t perceive by our senses that abstract quantity, Momentum, which is always lost by one body as it is gained by another. This Momentum is a creation of the mind, introduced among the facts to turn their apparent chaos into order, their seeming randomness into certainty, and their confusing variety into simplicity. This is what the concept of Momentum gained and lost does: and likewise, in any other case where a truth is established by Induction, a concept is introduced, an idea is applied as a means to connect the facts and thus produce the truth.
3. Hence in every inference by Induction, there is some Conception superinduced upon the Facts: and we may henceforth conceive this to be the peculiar import of the term Induction. I am not to be understood as asserting that the term was originally or anciently employed with this notion of its meaning; for the peculiar feature just pointed out in Induction has generally been overlooked. This appears by the accounts generally given of Induction. ‘Induction,’ says Aristotle6, ‘is when by means of one extreme term7 we infer the other extreme term to be true of the middle term.’ Thus, (to take such exemplifications as belong to our subject,) from knowing that Mercury, Venus, Mars, describe ellipses about the Sun, we infer that all Planets describe ellipses about the Sun. In making this inference syllogistically, we assume that the evident proposition, ‘Mercury, Venus, Mars, do what all Planets do,’ may be taken conversely, ‘All 75 Planets do what Mercury, Venus, Mars, do.’ But we may remark that, in this passage, Aristotle (as was natural in his line of discussion) turns his attention entirely to the evidence of the inference; and overlooks a step which is of far more importance to our knowledge, namely, the invention of the second extreme term. In the above instance, the particular luminaries, Mercury, Venus, Mars, are one logical Extreme; the general designation Planets is the Middle Term; but having these before us, how do we come to think of description of ellipses, which is the other Extreme of the syllogism? When we have once invented this ‘second Extreme Term,’ we may, or may not, be satisfied with the evidence of the syllogism; we may, or may not, be convinced that, so far as this property goes, the extremes are co-extensive with the middle term8; but the statement of the syllogism is the important step in science. We know how long Kepler laboured, how hard he fought, how many devices he tried, before he hit upon this Term, the Elliptical Motion. He rejected, as we know, many other ‘second extreme Terms,’ for example, various combinations of epicyclical constructions, because they did not represent with sufficient accuracy the special facts of observation. When he had established his premiss, that ‘Mars does describe an Ellipse about the Sun,’ he does not hesitate to guess at least that, in this respect, he might convert the other premiss, and assert that ‘All the Planets do what Mars does.’ But the main business was, the inventing and verifying the proposition respecting the Ellipse. The Invention of the Conception was the great step in the discovery; the Verification of the Proposition was the great step in the proof of the discovery. If Logic consists in pointing out the conditions of proof, the Logic of Induction must consist in showing what are the conditions of proof, in such inferences as this: but this subject must be pursued in the next chapter; I now speak principally of the act of 76 Invention, which is requisite in every inductive inference.
3. So in every inference by induction, there is some idea added onto the facts: and from now on, we should think of this as the specific meaning of the term Induction. I don’t mean to say that the term was originally or historically used with this meaning; the specific feature I just mentioned about induction has generally been overlooked. This is evident from the typical explanations of induction. ‘Induction,’ says Aristotle6, ‘is when, by using one extreme term7, we conclude that the other extreme term is true for the middle term.’ For example, knowing that Mercury, Venus, and Mars move in ellipses around the Sun, we infer that all planets do the same. In making this inference syllogistically, we assume that the clear statement, ‘Mercury, Venus, Mars, do what all planets do,’ can be flipped around, ‘All planets do what Mercury, Venus, Mars, do.’ However, it’s worth noting that in this passage, Aristotle (as was typical for his discussion) focuses entirely on the evidence of the inference and misses a much more crucial step in our understanding, which is the invention of the second extreme term. In this example, the specific bodies, Mercury, Venus, Mars, represent one logical Extreme; the general category of Planets is the Middle Term; but given these, how do we come to think of description of ellipses, which is the other extreme in the syllogism? Once we have invented this ‘second Extreme Term,’ we might or might not be satisfied with the evidence of the syllogism; we may or may not be convinced that, in terms of this property, the extremes are the same as the middle term8; but the statement of the syllogism is the critical step in science. We know how long Kepler worked, how hard he struggled, how many methods he tried, before he came up with this Term, Elliptical Motion. He rejected, as we know, many other ‘second extreme terms,’ for instance, various combinations of epicyclical constructions, because they didn’t accurately represent the specific observational facts. Once he established his premise that ‘Mars does move in an ellipse around the Sun,’ he didn’t hesitate to guess at least that, in this regard, he could reverse the other premise and assert that ‘All the planets do what Mars does.’ But the main task was inventing and validating the statement about the ellipse. The invention of this conception was the major step in the discovery; the verification of the statement was the crucial step in the proof of the discovery. If logic involves identifying the conditions of proof, the logic of induction must focus on understanding the conditions of proof in such inferences as this: but I will explore this topic in the next chapter; for now, I primarily discuss the act of 76 Invention, which is necessary for every inductive inference.
Mercury, Venus, Mars, describe ellipses about the Sun;
All Planets do what Mercury, Venus, Mars, do;
Therefore all Planets describe ellipses about the Sun.
4. Although in every inductive inference, an act of invention is requisite, the act soon slips out of notice. Although we bind together facts by superinducing upon them a new Conception, this Conception, once introduced and applied, is looked upon as inseparably connected with the facts, and necessarily implied in them. Having once had the phenomena bound together in their minds in virtue of the Conception, men can no longer easily restore them back to the detached and incoherent condition in which they were before they were thus combined. The pearls once strung, they seem to form a chain by their nature. Induction has given them a unity which it is so far from costing us an effort to preserve, that it requires an effort to imagine it dissolved. For instance, we usually represent to ourselves the Earth as round, the Earth and the Planets as revolving about the Sun, and as drawn to the Sun by a Central Force; we can hardly understand how it could cost the Greeks, and Copernicus, and Newton, so much pains and trouble to arrive at a view which to us is so familiar. These are no longer to us Conceptions caught hold of and kept hold of by a severe struggle; they are the simplest modes of conceiving the facts: they are really Facts. We are willing to own our obligation to those discoverers, but we hardly feel it: for in what other manner (we ask in our thoughts) could we represent the facts to ourselves?
4. Even though every inductive inference requires an act of invention, that act soon fades from our awareness. While we connect facts by introducing a new concept, once that concept is applied, it is perceived as inherently linked to the facts and necessarily implied by them. After binding the phenomena together in our minds through the concept, it becomes difficult for people to revert them to the separate and disorganized state they were in before they were combined. Once the pearls are strung, they seem to naturally form a chain. Induction has given them a unity that is so easy to maintain that it takes effort to imagine it being broken apart. For example, we typically envision the Earth as round, with the Earth and the planets revolving around the Sun, and being pulled towards the Sun by a central force; we can hardly grasp how much effort it took the Greeks, Copernicus, and Newton to reach a perspective that feels so familiar to us now. These ideas are no longer concepts we struggle to grasp; they are the simplest ways to understand the facts: they are indeed facts. We are happy to acknowledge our debt to those discoverers, but we barely feel it: for what other way (we ask ourselves) could we possibly understand the facts?
Thus we see why it is that this step of which we now speak, the Invention of a new Conception in every inductive inference, is so generally overlooked that it has hardly been noticed by preceding philosophers. When once performed by the discoverer, it takes a fixed and permanent place in the understanding of every one. It is a thought which, once breathed forth, permeates all men’s minds. All fancy they nearly or quite knew it before. It oft was thought, or almost thought, though never till now expressed. Men accept it and retain it, and know it cannot be taken 77 from them, and look upon it as their own. They will not and cannot part with it, even though they may deem it trivial and obvious. It is a secret, which once uttered, cannot be recalled, even though it be despised by those to whom it is imparted. As soon as the leading term of a new theory has been pronounced and understood, all the phenomena change their aspect. There is a standard to which we cannot help referring them. We cannot fall back into the helpless and bewildered state in which we gazed at them when we possessed no principle which gave them unity. Eclipses arrive in mysterious confusion: the notion of a Cycle dispels the mystery. The Planets perform a tangled and mazy dance; but Epicycles reduce the maze to order. The Epicycles themselves run into confusion; the conception of an Ellipse makes all clear and simple. And thus from stage to stage, new elements of intelligible order are introduced. But this intelligible order is so completely adopted by the human understanding, as to seem part of its texture. Men ask Whether Eclipses follow a Cycle; Whether the Planets describe Ellipses; and they imagine that so long as they do not answer such questions rashly, they take nothing for granted. They do not recollect how much they assume in asking the question:—how far the conceptions of Cycles and of Ellipses are beyond the visible surface of the celestial phenomena:—how many ages elapsed, how much thought, how much observation, were needed, before men’s thoughts were fashioned into the words which they now so familiarly use. And thus they treat the subject, as we have seen Aristotle treating it; as if it were a question, not of invention, but of proof; not of substance, but of form: as if the main thing were not what we assert, but how we assert it. But for our purpose, it is requisite to bear in mind the feature which we have thus attempted to mark; and to recollect that, in every inference by induction, there is a Conception supplied by the mind and superinduced upon the Facts.
Therefore, we see why this step we're discussing—the invention of a new concept in every inductive inference—is often overlooked and barely noticed by past philosophers. Once it's established by the discoverer, it finds a permanent place in everyone's understanding. It's an idea that, once expressed, spreads through people's minds. Everyone thinks they either knew it or almost had it figured out before. It was often thought about, or nearly thought about, though never articulated until now. People accept it and hold on to it, knowing it can't be taken away from them, viewing it as their own. They refuse to part with it, even if they consider it trivial and obvious. It's a secret that, once revealed, can't be retracted, even if it's dismissed by those who hear it. Once the key term of a new theory is spoken and understood, all the phenomena change their appearance. We have a standard to which we can't help but relate them. We can't go back to the confused and bewildered state we were in when we lacked a principle to unify them. Eclipses arrive in confusing mystery; the idea of a Cycle clears that up. The planets seem to perform a complicated, tangled dance; but Epicycles bring order to the chaos. The Epicycles themselves can become confusing; the idea of an Ellipse clarifies everything. Thus, step by step, new elements of understandable order are introduced. But this understandable order is so fully integrated into human understanding that it feels like part of its foundation. People ask whether eclipses follow a cycle, whether the planets move in ellipses, and they think that as long as they don't answer those questions too quickly, they aren't taking anything for granted. They forget how much they assume in asking those questions—how far the concepts of cycles and ellipses extend beyond the visible surface of celestial phenomena—how many ages passed, how much thought and observation were necessary, before the words they now use so comfortably were formed. So they approach the topic as Aristotle did, as if it were a matter of proof rather than invention, of form rather than substance; as if the critical issue were not what we assert, but how we assert it. For our purpose, it's essential to keep in mind the aspect we've highlighted; and to remember that in every inductive inference, there is a concept provided by the mind placed on top of the facts.
5. In collecting scientific truths by Induction, we often find (as has already been observed) a Definition 78 and a Proposition established at the same time,—introduced together, and mutually dependent on each other. The combination of the two constitutes the Inductive act; and we may consider the Definition as representing the superinduced Conception, and the Proposition as exhibiting the Colligation of Facts.
5. When gathering scientific truths through Induction, we often notice (as mentioned before) that a Definition 78 and a Proposition are established simultaneously—they're introduced together and depend on each other. The combination of the two makes up the Inductive act; we can think of the Definition as representing the added Concept, and the Proposition as showing the Connection of Facts.
Sect. II.—Use of Hypotheses.
Sect. II.—Using Hypotheses.
6. To discover a Conception of the mind which will justly represent a train of observed facts is, in some measure, a process of conjecture, as I have stated already; and as I then observed, the business of conjecture is commonly conducted by calling up before our minds several suppositions, and selecting that one which most agrees with what we know of the observed facts. Hence he who has to discover the laws of nature may have to invent many suppositions before he hits upon the right one; and among the endowments which lead to his success, we must reckon that fertility of invention which ministers to him such imaginary schemes, till at last he finds the one which conforms to the true order of nature. A facility in devising hypotheses, therefore, is so far from being a fault in the intellectual character of a discoverer, that it is, in truth, a faculty indispensable to his task. It is, for his purposes, much better that he should be too ready in contriving, too eager in pursuing systems which promise to introduce law and order among a mass of unarranged facts, than that he should be barren of such inventions and hopeless of such success. Accordingly, as we have already noticed, great discoverers have often invented hypotheses which would not answer to all the facts, as well as those which would; and have fancied themselves to have discovered laws, which a more careful examination of the facts overturned.
6. Discovering a concept of the mind that accurately represents a series of observed facts is, to some extent, a process of speculation, as I mentioned earlier; and as I previously noted, the process of speculation usually involves bringing several assumptions to mind and selecting the one that aligns best with what we know from the observed facts. Therefore, someone trying to uncover the laws of nature might need to come up with many assumptions before they find the correct one; and among the qualities that contribute to their success, we should consider the creativity that provides them with such imaginative ideas, until they eventually find the one that fits the true order of nature. Thus, being able to come up with hypotheses is far from being a flaw in the intellectual character of a discoverer; in fact, it is an essential skill for their task. For their purposes, it is much better for them to be too quick to create ideas, too eager to pursue theories that seem to establish order in a mass of disorganized facts, than to lack such creativity and despair of finding success. As we have already noted, many great discoverers have created hypotheses that didn’t fit all the facts, as well as those that did; and they have believed they found laws, which a more careful look at the facts later disproved.
The tendencies of our speculative nature9, carrying 79 us onwards in pursuit of symmetry and rule, and thus producing all true theories, perpetually show their vigour by overshooting the mark. They obtain something, by aiming at much more. They detect the order and connexion which exist, by conceiving imaginary relations of order and connexion which have no existence. Real discoveries are thus mixed with baseless assumptions; profound sagacity is combined with fanciful conjecture; not rarely, or in peculiar instances, but commonly, and in most cases; probably in all, if we could read the thoughts of discoverers as we read the books of Kepler. To try wrong guesses is, with most persons, the only way to hit upon right ones. The character of the true philosopher is, not that he never conjectures hazardously, but that his conjectures are clearly conceived, and brought into rigid contact with facts. He sees and compares distinctly the Ideas and the Things;—the relations of his notions to each other and to phenomena. Under these conditions, it is not only excusable, but necessary for him, to snatch at every semblance of general rule,—to try all promising forms of simplicity and symmetry.
The tendencies of our curious nature9, driving 79 us forward in search of balance and order, end up creating all accurate theories, constantly demonstrate their power by going too far. They achieve something by aiming for much more. They uncover the order and connections that exist by imagining relationships of order and connection that don't actually exist. Real discoveries are thus mixed with unfounded assumptions; deep insight is combined with whimsical speculation; not just occasionally or in unique cases, but often, in most situations; probably in all of them, if we could understand the thoughts of discoverers as easily as we read Kepler's books. For most people, trying out wrong guesses is the only way to stumble upon the right ones. The mark of a true philosopher isn't that he never takes risky guesses, but that his guesses are clearly thought out and rigorously tested against facts. He clearly sees and compares his Ideas with the Things;—the relationships of his concepts to one another and to real phenomena. Given these conditions, it’s not just excusable, but essential for him to seize on every hint of a general rule—to explore every promising form of simplicity and balance.
Hence advances in knowledge10 are not commonly made without the previous exercise of some boldness and license in guessing. The discovery of new truths requires, undoubtedly, minds careful and scrupulous in examining what is suggested; but it requires, no less, such as are quick and fertile in suggesting. What is Invention, except the talent of rapidly calling before us the many possibilities, and selecting the appropriate one? It is true, that when we have rejected all the inadmissible suppositions, they are often quickly forgotten; and few think it necessary to dwell on these discarded hypotheses, and on the process by which they were condemned. But all who discover truths, must have reasoned upon many errours to obtain each truth; 80 every accepted doctrine must have been one chosen out of many candidates. If many of the guesses of philosophers of bygone times now appear fanciful and absurd, because time and observation have refuted them, others, which were at the time equally gratuitous, have been conformed in a manner which makes them appear marvellously sagacious. To form hypotheses, and then to employ much labour and skill in refuting them, if they do not succeed in establishing them, is a part of the usual process of inventive minds. Such a proceeding belongs to the rule of the genius of discovery, rather than (as has often been taught in modern times) to the exception.
Therefore, advancements in knowledge are rarely made without some boldness and a willingness to guess. Discovering new truths undoubtedly requires careful and meticulous minds to examine what’s proposed, but it also needs those who are quick and creative in generating ideas. What is invention, if not the ability to swiftly present numerous possibilities and choose the right one? It’s true that once we dismiss all the invalid assumptions, those ideas are often quickly forgotten; few consider it necessary to dwell on these discarded theories and the reasoning behind their rejection. However, anyone who uncovers truths must have deliberated on many mistakes to achieve each truth; every accepted belief must have been chosen from numerous alternatives. If many of the ideas from ancient philosophers now seem fanciful and ridiculous because time and observation have disproved them, others, which were just as unwarranted at the time, have been shaped in a way that makes them seem remarkably insightful. Creating hypotheses and then applying considerable effort and skill to refute them, even if they don’t succeed in proving them, is a typical process for inventive minds. This approach aligns with the principle of discovery’s genius, rather than being seen as an exception, as has often been taught in modern times. 80
7. But if it be an advantage for the discoverer of truth that he be ingenious and fertile in inventing hypotheses which may connect the phenomena of nature, it is indispensably requisite that he be diligent and careful in comparing his hypotheses with the facts, and ready to abandon his invention as soon as it appears that it does not agree with the course of actual occurrences. This constant comparison of his own conceptions and supposition with observed facts under all aspects, forms the leading employment of the discoverer: this candid and simple love of truth, which makes him willing to suppress the most favourite production of his own ingenuity as soon as it appears to be at variance with realities, constitutes the first characteristic of his temper. He must have neither the blindness which cannot, nor the obstinacy which will not, perceive the discrepancy of his fancies and his facts. He must allow no indolence, or partial views, or self-complacency, or delight in seeming demonstration, to make him tenacious of the schemes which he devises, any further than they are confirmed by their accordance with nature. The framing of hypotheses is, for the inquirer after truth, not the end, but the beginning of his work. Each of his systems is invented, not that he may admire it and follow it into all its consistent consequences, but that he may make it the occasion of a course of active experiment and observation. And if the results of this process 81 contradict his fundamental assumptions, however ingenious, however symmetrical, however elegant his system may be, he rejects it without hesitation. He allows no natural yearning for the offspring of his own mind to draw him aside from the higher duty of loyalty to his sovereign, Truth: to her he not only gives his affections and his wishes, but strenuous labour and scrupulous minuteness of attention.
7. However, while it's a benefit for someone discovering the truth to be creative and skilled at coming up with ideas that connect the natural phenomena, it’s absolutely essential that they be diligent and careful in comparing these ideas with the facts, and willing to let go of their invention as soon as it becomes clear that it doesn’t match up with what actually happens. This ongoing comparison of their own thoughts and assumptions with observed facts from all angles is the main job of the discoverer: this honest and straightforward love of truth makes them ready to set aside even their most cherished ideas the moment they conflict with reality, which is a key trait of their character. They should neither have the blindness that cannot perceive the inconsistency of their ideas and facts, nor the stubbornness that refuses to see it. They must not let laziness, narrow perspectives, self-satisfaction, or a fondness for apparent proof make them cling to their plans any longer than those plans align with nature. Coming up with hypotheses is, for those seeking the truth, not the goal but the start of their work. Each system they create is designed not for admiration or following it to all its logical conclusions, but to serve as a starting point for active experimentation and observation. And if the outcomes of this process contradict their fundamental assumptions, no matter how clever, symmetrical, or elegant their system may be, they reject it without hesitation. They don’t allow a natural attachment to their own ideas to divert them from their higher duty of loyalty to their true ruler, Truth: for her, they not only dedicate their feelings and desires but also their hard work and meticulous attention.
We may refer to what we have said of Kepler, Newton, and other eminent philosophers, for illustrations of this character. In Kepler we have remarked11 the courage and perseverance with which he undertook and executed the task of computing his own hypotheses: and, as a still more admirable characteristic, that he never allowed the labour he had spent upon any conjecture to produce any reluctance in abandoning the hypothesis, as soon as he had evidence of its inaccuracy. And in the history of Newton’s discovery that the moon is retained in her orbit by the force of gravity, we have noticed the same moderation in maintaining the hypothesis, after it had once occurred to the author’s mind. The hypothesis required that the moon should fall from the tangent of her orbit every second through a space of sixteen feet; but according to his first calculations it appeared that in fact she only fell through a space of thirteen feet in that time. The difference seems small, the approximation encouraging, the theory plausible; a man in love with his own fancies would readily have discovered or invented some probable cause of the difference. But Newton acquiesced in it as a disproof of his conjecture, and ‘laid aside at that time any further thoughts of this matter12.’
We can refer to our earlier discussions about Kepler, Newton, and other notable thinkers for examples of this nature. In the case of Kepler, we noted the courage and determination he showed while developing and working through his own theories. Even more impressively, he never let the effort he put into any idea prevent him from abandoning it whenever he found evidence that it was incorrect. Similarly, in the story of Newton's discovery that the moon stays in its orbit due to gravity, we see a similar level of restraint in holding onto his hypothesis after it first came to him. His hypothesis suggested that the moon should fall from the tangent of its orbit by sixteen feet every second; however, his initial calculations indicated that it only fell about thirteen feet in that timeframe. Although the difference seems small, the approximation was promising and the theory reasonable. Someone who was attached to their own ideas might have easily manufactured a plausible explanation for the discrepancy. But Newton accepted it as a refutation of his theory and “set aside any further thoughts on the matter at that time.”
8. It has often happened that those who have undertaken to instruct mankind have not possessed this pure love of truth and comparative indifference to the maintenance of their own inventions. Men have frequently adhered with great tenacity and vehemence to the hypotheses which they have once framed; and in their 82 affection for these, have been prone to overlook, to distort, and to misinterpret facts. In this manner, Hypotheses have so often been prejudicial to the genuine pursuit of truth, that they have fallen into a kind of obloquy; and have been considered as dangerous temptations and fallacious guides. Many warnings have been uttered against the fabrication of hypotheses, by those who profess to teach philosophy; many disclaimers of such a course by those who cultivate science.
8. It has often happened that people who set out to educate others haven't had a genuine love for truth and have been relatively indifferent to the preservation of their own ideas. Individuals have frequently clung stubbornly and passionately to the theories they created, and in their attachment to these, they have been likely to overlook, twist, and misinterpret facts. Because of this, Hypotheses have often hindered the real pursuit of truth, leading them to be viewed negatively; they have been regarded as dangerous temptations and misleading guides. Many warnings have been issued against creating hypotheses by those who claim to teach philosophy; many have distanced themselves from such practices by those who engage in science.
Thus we shall find Bacon frequently discommending this habit, under the name of ‘anticipation of the mind,’ and Newton thinks it necessary to say emphatically ‘hypotheses non fingo.’ It has been constantly urged that the inductions by which sciences are formed must be cautious and rigorous; and the various imaginations which passed through Kepler’s brain, and to which he has given utterance, have been blamed or pitied, as lamentable instances of an unphilosophical frame of mind. Yet it has appeared in the preceding remarks that hypotheses rightly used are among the helps, far more than the dangers, of science;—that scientific induction is not a ‘cautious’ or a ‘rigorous’ process in the sense of abstaining from such suppositions, but in not adhering to them till they are confirmed by fact, and in carefully seeking from facts confirmation or refutation. Kepler’s distinctive character was, not that he was peculiarly given to the construction of hypotheses, but that he narrated with extraordinary copiousness and candour the course of his thoughts, his labours, and his feelings. In the minds of most persons, as we have said, the inadmissible suppositions, when rejected, are soon forgotten: and thus the trace of them vanishes from the thoughts, and the successful hypothesis alone holds its place in our memory. But in reality, many other transient suppositions must have been made by all discoverers;—hypotheses which are not afterwards asserted as true systems, but entertained for an instant;—‘tentative hypotheses,’ as they have been called. Each of these hypotheses is followed by its corresponding train of observations, from which it derives its power of leading to truth. The hypothesis is 83 like the captain, and the observations like the soldiers of an army: while he appears to command them, and in this way to work his own will, he does in fact derive all his power of conquest from their obedience, and becomes helpless and useless if they mutiny.
We often see Bacon criticizing this habit, referring to it as ‘anticipation of the mind,’ and Newton felt it was important to stress ‘hypotheses non fingo.’ It has been repeatedly pointed out that the inductions that form sciences need to be cautious and rigorous; the various ideas that crossed Kepler’s mind and that he expressed have been either criticized or viewed with sympathy as unfortunate examples of an unphilosophical way of thinking. However, as noted earlier, when used correctly, hypotheses are much more helpful than they are dangerous for science;—scientific induction is not a ‘cautious’ or ‘rigorous’ process in the sense of abstaining from such assumptions, but in not clinging to them until they are backed by facts and in actively seeking confirmation or refutation from the facts. Kepler’s unique trait wasn’t that he was particularly inclined to create hypotheses, but that he described his thoughts, efforts, and emotions with remarkable detail and honesty. Most people, as we mentioned, forget the unacceptable assumptions once they are discarded: thus, they fade from our thinking, and only the successful hypothesis remains in our memory. In reality, many other fleeting assumptions must have been made by all discoverers;—hypotheses that are not later claimed as true systems but were considered for a moment;—‘tentative hypotheses,’ as they have been termed. Each of these hypotheses leads to its own set of observations, which gives it the potential to arrive at the truth. The hypothesis is 83 like the captain, and the observations are like the soldiers in an army: while he seems to command them and thus fulfill his will, he actually owes all his power of victory to their obedience and becomes powerless and ineffective if they rebel.
Since the discoverer has thus constantly to work his way onwards by means of hypotheses, false and true, it is highly important for him to possess talents and means for rapidly testing each supposition as it offers itself. In this as in other parts of the work of discovery, success has in general been mainly owing to the native ingenuity and sagacity of the discoverer’s mind. Yet some Rules tending to further this object have been delivered by eminent philosophers, and some others may perhaps be suggested. Of these we shall here notice only some of the most general, leaving for a future chapter the consideration of some more limited and detailed processes by which, in certain cases, the discovery of the laws of nature may be materially assisted.
Since the discoverer has to continuously move forward with various hypotheses, both false and true, it's essential for them to have the skills and resources to quickly test each idea as it comes up. In this aspect, as in other areas of discovery, success has generally relied on the natural creativity and insight of the discoverer’s mind. However, some guidelines aimed at supporting this process have been proposed by notable philosophers, and others might be suggested as well. Here, we will highlight only some of the most general ones, reserving the discussion of more specific and detailed methods that can significantly aid in discovering the laws of nature for a future chapter.
Sect. III.—Tests of Hypotheses.
Sect. III.—Hypothesis Testing.
9. A maxim which it may be useful to recollect is this;—that hypotheses may often be of service to science, when they involve a certain portion of incompleteness, and even of errour. The object of such inventions is to bind together facts which without them are loose and detached; and if they do this, they may lead the way to a perception of the true rule by which the phenomena are associated together, even if they themselves somewhat misstate the matter. The imagined arrangement enables us to contemplate, as a whole, a collection of special cases which perplex and overload our minds when they are considered in succession; and if our scheme has so much of truth in it as to conjoin what is really connected, we may afterwards duly correct or limit the mechanism of this connexion. If our hypothesis renders a reason for the agreement of cases really similar, we may afterwards find this reason to be 84 false, but we shall be able to translate it into the language of truth.
9. A useful principle to remember is this: hypotheses can often be helpful to science, even when they have some degree of incompleteness and even errors. The purpose of such ideas is to link together facts that would otherwise be scattered and disconnected; and if they achieve this, they can open the door to understanding the true principle that connects the phenomena, even if they misrepresent things somewhat. The imagined framework allows us to view, as a whole, a group of specific cases that can confuse and overwhelm us when looked at one by one; and if our framework has enough truth in it to connect what is genuinely related, we can then appropriately refine or adjust how this connection works. If our hypothesis provides an explanation for the agreement of genuinely similar cases, we might later discover that this explanation is 84 incorrect, but we will be able to rephrase it in more truthful terms.
A conspicuous example of such an hypothesis,—one which was of the highest value to science, though very incomplete, and as a representation of nature altogether false,—is seen in the Doctrine of epicycles by which the ancient astronomers explained the motions of the sun, moon, and planets. This doctrine connected the places and velocities of these bodies at particular times in a manner which was, in its general features, agreeable to nature. Yet this doctrine was erroneous in its assertion of the circular nature of all the celestial motions, and in making the heavenly bodies revolve round the earth. It was, however, of immense value to the progress of astronomical science; for it enabled men to express and reason upon many important truths which they discovered respecting the motion of the stars, up to the time of Kepler. Indeed we can hardly imagine that astronomy could, in its outset, have made so great a progress under any other form, as it did in consequence of being cultivated in this shape of the incomplete and false epicyclical hypothesis.
A clear example of such a hypothesis—one that was incredibly important for science, even though it was very incomplete and ultimately a false representation of nature—is the Doctrine of Epicycles, which ancient astronomers used to explain the movements of the sun, moon, and planets. This doctrine linked the positions and speeds of these celestial bodies at specific times in a way that generally aligned with natural observations. However, this doctrine was wrong in claiming that all celestial motions were circular and that the heavenly bodies revolved around the earth. Still, it played a huge role in advancing astronomical science; it allowed people to articulate and reason about many important discoveries regarding the motion of the stars right up until Kepler's time. In fact, it's hard to imagine that astronomy could have made such significant progress early on in any other form than through this incomplete and inaccurate epicyclical hypothesis.
We may notice another instance of an exploded hypothesis, which is generally mentioned only to be ridiculed, and which undoubtedly is both false in the extent of its assertion, and unphilosophical in its expression; but which still, in its day, was not without merit. I mean the doctrine of Nature’s horrour of a vacuum (fuga vacui), by which the action of siphons and pumps and many other phenomena were explained, till Mersenne and Pascal taught a truer doctrine. This hypothesis was of real service; for it brought together many facts which really belong to the same class, although they are very different in their first aspect. A scientific writer of modern times13 appears to wonder that men did not at once divine the weight of the air, from which the phenomena formerly ascribed to the fuga vacui really result. ‘Loaded, 85 compressed by the atmosphere,’ he says, ‘they did not recognize its action. In vain all nature testified that air was elastic and heavy; they shut their eyes to her testimony. The water rose in pumps and flowed in siphons at that time, as it does at this day. They could not separate the boards of a pair of bellows of which the holes were stopped; and they could not bring together the same boards without difficulty, if they were at first separated. Infants sucked the milk of their mothers; air entered rapidly into the lungs of animals at every inspiration; cupping-glasses produced tumours on the skin; and in spite of all these striking proofs of the weight and elasticity of the air, the ancient philosophers maintained resolutely that air was light, and explained all these phenomena by the horrour which they said nature had for a vacuum.’ It is curious that it should not have occurred to the author while writing this, that if these facts, so numerous and various, can all be accounted for by one principle, there is a strong presumption that the principle is not altogether baseless. And in reality is it not true that nature does abhor a vacuum, and does all she can to avoid it? No doubt this power is not unlimited; and moreover we can trace it to a mechanical cause, the pressure of the circumambient air. But the tendency, arising from this pressure, which the bodies surrounding a space void of air have to rush into it, may be expressed, in no extravagant or unintelligible manner, by saying that nature has a repugnance to a vacuum.
We can see another example of a discredited theory that is often mocked, and which is clearly incorrect in its claims and unscientific in its wording; however, it had its merits in its time. I'm referring to the idea of Nature’s horror of a vacuum (fuga vacui), which was used to explain the functioning of siphons, pumps, and other phenomena, until Mersenne and Pascal introduced a more accurate understanding. This theory was genuinely useful as it linked many facts that, while they seem very different at first glance, actually belong to the same category. A modern scientific author13seems to be surprised that people didn't immediately grasp the weight of air, which is the real source of the phenomena once attributed to fuga vacui. "Loaded and compressed by the atmosphere," he states, "they failed to recognize its impact. Nature repeatedly showed that air was elastic and heavy; they simply ignored her evidence. Water rose in pumps and flowed in siphons then just as it does today. They couldn't pull apart the boards of a pair of bellows with the holes plugged, and they struggled to bring them back together if they were initially separated. Infants sucked milk from their mothers; air rushed into animals' lungs with each breath; cupping glasses created bumps on the skin; and despite all these compelling signs of air's weight and elasticity, the ancient philosophers stubbornly insisted air was light, explaining all these phenomena with the supposed horror nature had for a vacuum." It's interesting that the author didn't realize while writing this that if so many diverse facts can be explained by one principle, there's a strong likelihood that principle isn't entirely unfounded. In fact, isn’t it true that nature does abhor a vacuum and does everything it can to prevent one? Surely this force isn't without limits; moreover, we can trace it back to a mechanical cause, the pressure of the surrounding air. Yet, the tendency caused by this pressure for bodies around an airless space to rush into it can be accurately described, without exaggeration or confusion, as nature having a repulsion for a vacuum.
That imperfect and false hypotheses, though they may thus explain some phenomena, and may be useful in the progress of science, cannot explain all phenomena;—and that we are never to rest in our labours or acquiesce in our results, till we have found some view of the subject which is consistent with all the observed facts;—will of course be understood. We shall afterwards have to speak of the other steps of such a progress.
That imperfect and incorrect hypotheses, while they may explain some phenomena and be helpful in advancing science, cannot explain all phenomena;—and that we should never settle in our work or accept our findings until we have discovered a perspective on the subject that is consistent with all the observed facts;—will, of course, be clear. We will later discuss the other stages of such progress.
10. Thus the hypotheses which we accept ought to explain phenomena which we have observed. But they 86 ought to do more than this: our hypotheses ought to foretel phenomena which have not yet been observed; at least all phenomena of the same kind as those which the hypothesis was invented to explain. For our assent to the hypothesis implies that it is held to be true of all particular instances. That these cases belong to past or to future times, that they have or have not already occurred, makes no difference in the applicability of the rule to them. Because the rule prevails, it includes all cases; and will determine them all, if we can only calculate its real consequences. Hence it will predict the results of new combinations, as well as explain the appearances which have occurred in old ones. And that it does this with certainty and correctness, is one mode in which the hypothesis is to be verified as right and useful.
10. So the hypotheses we accept should explain the phenomena we've observed. But they should do more than that: our hypotheses should predict phenomena that have not yet been observed; at the very least, all phenomena similar to those the hypothesis was created to explain. Our agreement with the hypothesis suggests it's believed to be true for all specific instances. Whether these cases are from the past or future, or if they have already happened or not, doesn't affect how the rule applies to them. Since the rule applies broadly, it covers all cases and will determine them all if we can figure out its actual consequences. Therefore, it will predict the outcomes of new combinations as well as explain what has happened in previous ones. The fact that it does this accurately and reliably is one way to validate the hypothesis as correct and useful.
The scientific doctrines which have at various periods been established have been verified in this manner. For example, the Epicyclical Theory of the heavens was confirmed by its predicting truly eclipses of the sun and moon, configurations of the planets, and other celestial phenomena; and by its leading to the construction of Tables by which the places of the heavenly bodies were given at every moment of time. The truth and accuracy of these predictions were a proof that the hypothesis was valuable, and, at least to a great extent, true; although, as was afterwards found, it involved a false representation of the structure of the heavens. In like manner, the discovery of the Laws of Refraction enabled mathematicians to predict, by calculation, what would be the effect of any new form or combination of transparent lenses. Newton’s hypothesis of Fits of Easy Transmission and Easy Reflection in the particles of light, although not confirmed by other kinds of facts, involved a true statement of the law of the phenomena which it was framed to include, and served to predict the forms and colours of thin plates for a wide range of given cases. The hypothesis that Light operates by Undulations and Interferences, afforded the means of predicting results under a still larger extent of conditions. In like manner in the 87 progress of chemical knowledge, the doctrine of Phlogiston supplied the means of foreseeing the consequence of many combinations of elements, even before they were tried; but the Oxygen Theory, besides affording predictions, at least equally exact, with regard to the general results of chemical operations, included all the facts concerning the relations of weight of the elements and their compounds, and enabled chemists to foresee such facts in untried cases. And the Theory of Electromagnetic Forces, as soon as it was rightly understood, enabled those who had mastered it to predict motions such as had not been before observed, which were accordingly found to take place.
The scientific theories that have been developed over time have been verified in this way. For instance, the Epicyclical Theory of the universe was validated by accurately predicting solar and lunar eclipses, as well as the positions of planets and other celestial events. It also led to the creation of tables that provided the locations of heavenly bodies at any given moment. The truth and precision of these predictions proved that the hypothesis was useful and, to a large extent, accurate; although, as later discovered, it represented a false picture of the structure of the universe. Similarly, the discovery of the Laws of Refraction allowed mathematicians to predict through calculations the effects of any new shape or combination of transparent lenses. Newton’s hypothesis of Fits of Easy Transmission and Easy Reflection in light particles, although not confirmed by other types of evidence, included a true description of the law of the phenomena it aimed to account for and helped predict the shapes and colors of thin plates across a wide range of specific cases. The hypothesis that light functions through Undulations and Interferences provided a way to predict outcomes under an even broader set of conditions. Likewise, in the 87 advancement of chemical understanding, the theory of Phlogiston allowed scientists to foresee the results of many element combinations even before experimenting with them; however, the Oxygen Theory not only made equally accurate predictions regarding the overall outcomes of chemical reactions but also accounted for all the facts concerning the weight relationships of elements and their compounds, enabling chemists to foresee such facts in untested situations. The Theory of Electromagnetic Forces, once properly understood, allowed those who mastered it to predict motions that had not been observed before, which were subsequently found to occur.
Men cannot help believing that the laws laid down by discoverers must be in a great measure identical with the real laws of nature, when the discoverers thus determine effects beforehand in the same manner in which nature herself determines them when the occasion occurs. Those who can do this, must, to a considerable extent, have detected nature’s secret;—must have fixed upon the conditions to which she attends, and must have seized the rules by which she applies them. Such a coincidence of untried facts with speculative assertions cannot be the work of chance, but implies some large portion of truth in the principles on which the reasoning is founded. To trace order and law in that which has been observed, may be considered as interpreting what nature has written down for us, and will commonly prove that we understand her alphabet. But to predict what has not been observed, is to attempt ourselves to use the legislative phrases of nature; and when she responds plainly and precisely to that which we thus utter, we cannot but suppose that we have in a great measure made ourselves masters of the meaning and structure of her language. The prediction of results, even of the same kind as those which have been observed, in new cases, is a proof of real success in our inductive processes.
Men can’t help but believe that the laws established by discoverers must largely align with the actual laws of nature, especially when these discoverers predict outcomes in the same way that nature does when the situation arises. Those who can make these predictions must have, to a significant degree, uncovered nature’s secrets; they must have identified the conditions she considers and grasped the rules by which she operates. Such a coincidence of untested facts with speculative claims can’t be random but suggests that there’s a substantial truth in the principles on which the reasoning is based. To identify order and law in what has been observed can be seen as interpreting what nature has laid out for us, and it typically shows that we understand her basics. However, to predict what hasn’t been observed is to try to use nature's legislative language ourselves; when she responds clearly and accurately to what we assert, we can only conclude that we have largely mastered the meaning and structure of her language. Predicting results, even of the same type as those already observed, in new situations, is proof of real success in our inductive reasoning.
11. We have here spoken of the prediction of facts of the same kind as those from which our rule was collected. But the evidence in favour of our 88 induction is of a much higher and more forcible character when it enables us to explain and determine cases of a kind different from those which were contemplated in the formation of our hypothesis. The instances in which this has occurred, indeed, impress us with a conviction that the truth of our hypothesis is certain. No accident could give rise to such an extraordinary coincidence. No false supposition could, after being adjusted to one class of phenomena, exactly represent a different class, where the agreement was unforeseen and uncontemplated. That rules springing from remote and unconnected quarters should thus leap to the same point, can only arise from that being the point where truth resides.
11. We've talked about the prediction of facts of the same kind as those from which our rule was derived. However, the evidence supporting our 88 argument is much stronger and more compelling when it helps us explain and define cases of a kind different from those we originally considered in forming our hypothesis. The examples where this has happened truly convince us that our hypothesis is likely true. No coincidence could create such an extraordinary match. No incorrect assumption could, after being tailored to one type of phenomena, perfectly fit a different type, especially when the alignment was unexpected and unplanned. That rules from distant and unrelated sources should converge in this way can only happen because that is where the truth lies.
Accordingly the cases in which inductions from classes of facts altogether different have thus jumped together, belong only to the best established theories which the history of science contains. And as I shall have occasion to refer to this peculiar feature in their evidence, I will take the liberty of describing it by a particular phrase; and will term it the Consilience of Inductions.
Accordingly, the situations where conclusions from completely different sets of facts have come together belong only to the most well-established theories in the history of science. Since I will need to mention this unique aspect of their evidence, I’ll take the liberty of calling it a specific term: the Consilience of Inductions.
It is exemplified principally in some of the greatest discoveries. Thus it was found by Newton that the doctrine of the Attraction of the Sun varying according to the Inverse Square of this distance, which explained Kepler’s Third Law, of the proportionality of the cubes of the distances to the squares of the periodic times of the planets, explained also his First and Second Laws, of the elliptical motion of each planet; although no connexion of these laws had been visible before. Again, it appeared that the force of universal Gravitation, which had been inferred from the Perturbations of the moon and planets by the sun and by each other, also accounted for the fact, apparently altogether dissimilar and remote, of the Precession of the equinoxes. Here was a most striking and surprising coincidence, which gave to the theory a stamp of truth beyond the power of ingenuity to counterfeit. In like manner in Optics; the hypothesis of alternate Fits of easy Transmission and Reflection would explain 89 the colours of thin plates, and indeed was devised and adjusted for that very purpose; but it could give no account of the phenomena of the fringes of shadows. But the doctrine of Interferences, constructed at first with reference to phenomena of the nature of the Fringes, explained also the Colours of thin plates better than the supposition of the Fits invented for that very purpose. And we have in Physical Optics another example of the same kind, which is quite as striking as the explanation of Precession by inferences from the facts of Perturbation. The doctrine of Undulations propagated in a Spheroidal Form was contrived at first by Huyghens, with a view to explain the laws of Double Refraction in calc-spar; and was pursued with the same view by Fresnel. But in the course of the investigation it appeared, in a most unexpected and wonderful manner, that this same doctrine of spheroidal undulations, when it was so modified as to account for the directions of the two refracted rays, accounted also for the positions of their Planes of Polarization14, a phenomenon which, taken by itself, it had perplexed previous mathematicians, even to represent.
It is mainly illustrated through some of the greatest discoveries. For example, Newton found that the theory of the Sun's attraction changes according to the inverse square of the distance, which explained Kepler’s Third Law, relating the cubes of the distances to the squares of the periodic times of the planets, also clarified his First and Second Laws concerning the elliptical motion of each planet, even though no link between these laws had been apparent before. Similarly, it turned out that the force of universal Gravitation, inferred from the Perturbations of the moon and planets by the sun and each other, also explained the seemingly unrelated and distant phenomenon of the Precession of the equinoxes. This was a striking and surprising coincidence that gave the theory a level of truth that ingenuity couldn't fake. In optics, the hypothesis of alternate Fits of easy Transmission and Reflection was meant to explain the colors of thin plates and was created for that purpose; however, it couldn't account for the effects of shadow fringes. But the theory of Interferences, initially constructed to explain the Fringes, explained the Colours of thin plates better than the Fits created specifically for that. In Physical Optics, we have another equally impressive example, as striking as the explanation of Precession derived from Perturbation facts. The theory of undulations propagating in a Spheroidal Form was first devised by Huyghens to explain the laws of Double Refraction in calc-spar and was continued with the same goal by Fresnel. However, during the investigation, it was unexpectedly and wonderfully revealed that this same theory of spheroidal undulations, when modified to explain the directions of the two refracted rays, also accounted for the positions of their Planes of Polarization14, a phenomenon that had previously puzzled mathematicians to the point of being unable to represent it.
The Theory of Universal Gravitation, and of the Undulatory Theory of Light, are, indeed, full of examples of this Consilience of Inductions. With regard to the latter, it has been justly asserted by Herschel, that the history of the undulatory theory was a succession of felicities15. And it is precisely the unexpected coincidences of results drawn from distant parts of the subject which are properly thus described. Thus the Laws of the Modification of polarization to which Fresnel was led by his general views, accounted for the Rule respecting the Angle at which light is polarized, discovered by Sir D. Brewster16. The conceptions of the theory pointed out peculiar Modifications of the phenomena when Newton’s rings were produced by polarised light, which modifications were 90 ascertained to take place in fact, by Arago and Airy17. When the beautiful phenomena of Dipolarized light were discovered by Arago and Biot, Young was able to declare that they were reducible to the general laws of Interference which he had already established18. And what was no less striking a confirmation of the truth of the theory, Measures of the same element deduced from various classes of facts were found to coincide. Thus the Length of a luminiferous undulation, calculated by Young from the measurement of Fringes of shadows, was found to agree very nearly with the previous calculation from the colours of Thin plates19.
The Theory of Universal Gravitation and the Undulatory Theory of Light are full of examples of this Consilience of Inductions. Regarding the latter, Herschel rightly remarked that the history of the undulatory theory was a series of felicities15. It’s precisely the unexpected coincidences of results drawn from different areas of the subject that are accurately described in this way. For instance, the Laws of the Modification of polarization, which Fresnel arrived at through his overall views, explained the Rule about the Angle at which light is polarized, discovered by Sir D. Brewster16. The ideas from the theory pointed out unique Modifications of the phenomena when Newton’s rings were produced with polarized light, and these modifications were confirmed by Arago and Airy17. When the beautiful phenomena of Dipolarized light were discovered by Arago and Biot, Young was able to affirm that they could be explained by the general laws of Interference that he had already established18. Furthermore, what was equally striking as proof of the theory was that Measurements of the same element derived from various types of facts were found to match. So, the Length of a luminiferous wave calculated by Young from measuring the Fringes of shadows closely aligned with previous calculations from the colors of Thin plates19.
No example can be pointed out, in the whole history of science, so far as I am aware, in which this Consilience of Inductions has given testimony in favour of an hypothesis afterwards discovered to be false. If we take one class of facts only, knowing the law which they follow, we may construct an hypothesis, or perhaps several, which may represent them: and as new circumstances are discovered, we may often adjust the hypothesis so as to correspond to these also. But when the hypothesis, of itself and without adjustment for the purpose, gives us the rule and reason of a class of facts not contemplated in its construction, we have a criterion of its reality, which has never yet been produced in favour of falsehood.
No example can be found in the entire history of science, as far as I know, where this Consilience of Inductions has supported a hypothesis that was later proven to be false. If we focus on just one set of facts, knowing the law they follow, we can create a hypothesis, or possibly several, that represent them. And as new information comes to light, we can often modify the hypothesis to align with these findings as well. However, when the hypothesis on its own, without being adjusted for the purpose, provides us with the rule and reason for a set of facts not considered during its creation, we have a criterion for its validity, which has never been shown to support falsehood.
12. In the preceding Article I have spoken of the hypothesis with which we compare our facts as being framed all at once, each of its parts being included in the original scheme. In reality, however, it often happens that the various suppositions which our system contains are added upon occasion of different researches. Thus in the Ptolemaic doctrine of the heavens, new epicycles and eccentrics were added as new inequalities of the motions of the heavenly bodies were discovered; and in the Newtonian doctrine of material rays of light, the supposition that these rays had 91 ‘fits,’ was added to explain the colours of thin plates; and the supposition that they had ‘sides’ was introduced on occasion of the phenomena of polarization. In like manner other theories have been built up of parts devised at different times.
12. In the previous Article, I talked about the hypothesis with which we compare our facts as being created all at once, with every part included in the original plan. However, in reality, it often happens that the different assumptions our system includes are added during various research efforts. For example, in the Ptolemaic view of the heavens, new epicycles and eccentrics were added as new irregularities in the motions of heavenly bodies were discovered. Similarly, in the Newtonian theory of the material rays of light, the idea that these rays had 91 ‘fits’ was introduced to explain the colors of thin plates, and the idea that they had ‘sides’ was brought in to account for the phenomena of polarization. In the same way, other theories have been constructed from parts developed at different times.
This being the mode in which theories are often framed, we have to notice a distinction which is found to prevail in the progress of true and false theories. In the former class all the additional suppositions tend to simplicity and harmony; the new suppositions resolve themselves into the old ones, or at least require only some easy modification of the hypothesis first assumed: the system becomes more coherent as it is further extended. The elements which we require for explaining a new class of facts are already contained in our system. Different members of the theory run together, and we have thus a constant convergence to unity. In false theories, the contrary is the case. The new suppositions are something altogether additional;—not suggested by the original scheme; perhaps difficult to reconcile with it. Every such addition adds to the complexity of the hypothetical system, which at last becomes unmanageable, and is compelled to surrender its place to some simpler explanation.
This is how theories are often created, so we need to note a difference that appears in the development of true and false theories. In true theories, all the new assumptions favor simplicity and coherence; the new assumptions integrate with the old ones or require just a few straightforward adjustments to the initial hypothesis: the system becomes more unified as it expands. The elements we need to explain a new set of facts are already part of our system. Different parts of the theory connect with each other, and as a result, there is a steady movement toward unity. In false theories, it’s the opposite. The new assumptions are completely separate; they aren’t derived from the original framework and might be hard to connect with it. Each new addition increases the complexity of the hypothetical system, which eventually becomes too complicated to manage and must give way to a simpler explanation.
Such a false theory, for example, was the ancient doctrine of eccentrics and epicycles. It explained the general succession of the Places of the Sun, Moon, and Planets; it would not have explained the proportion of their Magnitudes at different times, if these could have been accurately observed; but this the ancient astronomers were unable to do. When, however, Tycho and other astronomers came to be able to observe the planets accurately in all positions, it was found that no combination of equable circular motions would exactly represent all the observations. We may see, in Kepler’s works, the many new modifications of the epicyclical hypothesis which offered themselves to him; some of which would have agreed with the phenomena with a certain degree of accuracy, but not with so great a degree as Kepler, fortunately for the progress of science, insisted upon obtaining. After these 92 epicycles had been thus accumulated, they all disappeared and gave way to the simpler conception of an elliptical motion. In like manner, the discovery of new inequalities in the Moon’s motions encumbered her system more and more with new machinery, which was at last rejected all at once in favour of the elliptical theory. Astronomers could not but suppose themselves in a wrong path, when the prospect grew darker and more entangled at every step.
Such a false theory, for example, was the old idea of eccentrics and epicycles. It explained the general changes in the positions of the Sun, Moon, and Planets; however, it wouldn't have explained the ratio of their sizes at different times if these could have been accurately measured, which the ancient astronomers couldn’t do. When Tycho and other astronomers were finally able to observe the planets accurately in all positions, it turned out that no combination of equable circular motions could perfectly match all the observations. In Kepler’s works, we can see the many new adaptations of the epicyclical hypothesis that he considered; some of these would have matched the phenomena with a certain level of accuracy, but not to the high standard that Kepler, luckily for the advancement of science, insisted on achieving. After all these 92 epicycles piled up, they eventually vanished and were replaced by the simpler idea of elliptical motion. Similarly, the discovery of new irregularities in the Moon’s motions just added more and more complications, which were ultimately discarded all at once in favor of the elliptical theory. Astronomers couldn’t help but feel they were on the wrong track when the situation grew worse and more complicated with every step.
Again; the Cartesian system of Vortices might be said to explain the primary phenomena of the revolutions of planets about the sun, and satellites about planets. But the elliptical form of the orbits required new suppositions. Bernoulli ascribed this curve to the shape of the planet, operating on the stream of the vortex in a manner similar to the rudder of a boat. But then the motions of the aphelia, and of the nodes,—the perturbations,—even the action of gravity towards the earth,—could not be accounted for without new and independent suppositions. Here was none of the simplicity of truth. The theory of Gravitation, on the other hand, became more simple as the facts to be explained became more numerous. The attraction of the sun accounted for the motions of the planets; the attraction of the planets was the cause of the motion of the satellites. But this being assumed, the perturbations, and the motions of the nodes and aphelia, only made it requisite to extend the attraction of the sun to the satellites, and that of the planets to each other:—the tides, the spheroidal form of the earth, the precession, still required nothing more than that the moon and sun should attract the parts of the earth, and that these should attract each other;—so that all the suppositions resolved themselves into the single one, of the universal gravitation of all matter. It is difficult to imagine a more convincing manifestation of simplicity and unity.
Again, the Cartesian vortex system might be said to explain the basic phenomena of how planets revolve around the sun and satellites around planets. However, the elliptical shape of the orbits required new assumptions. Bernoulli attributed this curve to the shape of the planet, affecting the vortex stream similar to how a boat's rudder works. But then, the movements of the aphelia and the nodes—the perturbations—and even gravity's influence on the earth couldn't be explained without additional independent assumptions. There was none of the simplicity of truth here. On the other hand, the theory of gravitation became simpler as more facts needed explaining. The sun's attraction accounted for the planets' movements; the planets' attraction caused the satellites' motion. Once this was accepted, the perturbations and the movements of the nodes and aphelia only required that the sun's attraction extend to the satellites and that the planets attract each other: the tides, the earth's spheroidal shape, and precession still needed nothing more than the moon and sun attracting the earth's parts and those parts attracting each other; thus, all the assumptions boiled down to the single one of universal gravitation of all matter. It's hard to imagine a more convincing display of simplicity and unity.
Again, to take an example from another science;—the doctrine of Phlogiston brought together many facts in a very plausible manner,—combustion, acidification, and others,—and very naturally prevailed for a while. 93 But the balance came to be used in chemical operations, and the facts of weight as well as of combination were to be accounted for. On the phlogistic theory, it appeared that this could not be done without a new supposition, and that, a very strange one;—that phlogiston was an element not only not heavy, but absolutely light, so that it diminished the weight of the compounds into which it entered. Some chemists for a time adopted this extravagant view, but the wiser of them saw, in the necessity of such a supposition to the defence of the theory, an evidence that the hypothesis of an element phlogiston was erroneous. And the opposite hypothesis, which taught that oxygen was subtracted, and not phlogiston added, was accepted because it required no such novel and inadmissible assumption.
Again, to take an example from another science: the phlogiston theory connected many facts in a pretty convincing way—combustion, acidification, and others—and naturally gained acceptance for a time. 93 However, once balances were used in chemical experiments, both weight and combination of substances needed to be explained. According to the phlogiston theory, this couldn't be accomplished without a new and quite bizarre assumption—that phlogiston was an element that wasn’t just weightless, but actually light, meaning it reduced the weight of the compounds it entered. Some chemists temporarily embraced this ridiculous idea, but the wiser ones realized that needing such an assumption to defend the theory was proof that the concept of an element called phlogiston was incorrect. The opposing hypothesis, which suggested that oxygen was being removed rather than phlogiston being added, was accepted because it didn’t require a strange and unacceptable assumption.
Again, we find the same evidence of truth in the progress of the Undulatory Theory of light, in the course of its application from one class of facts to another. Thus we explain Reflection and Refraction by undulations; when we come to Thin Plates, the requisite ‘fits’ are already involved in our fundamental hypothesis, for they are the length of an undulation: the phenomena of Diffraction also require such intervals; and the intervals thus required agree exactly with the others in magnitude, so that no new property is needed. Polarization for a moment appears to require some new hypothesis; yet this is hardly the case; for the direction of our vibrations is hitherto arbitrary:—we allow polarization to decide it, and we suppose the undulations to be transverse. Having done this for the sake of Polarization, we turn to the phenomena of Double Refraction, and inquire what new hypothesis they require. But the answer is, that they require none: the supposition of transverse vibrations, which we have made in order to explain Polarization, gives us also the law of Double Refraction. Truth may give rise to such a coincidence; falsehood cannot. Again, the facts of Dipolarization come into view. But they hardly require any new assumption; for the difference of optical elasticity of crystals in different directions, 94 which is already assumed in uniaxal crystals20, is extended to biaxal exactly according to the law of symmetry; and this being done, the laws of the phenomena, curious and complex as they are, are fully explained. The phenomena of Circular Polarization by internal reflection, instead of requiring a new hypothesis, are found to be given by an interpretation of an apparently inexplicable result of an old hypothesis. The Circular Polarization of Quartz and the Double Refraction does indeed appear to require a new assumption, but still not one which at all disturbs the form of the theory; and in short, the whole history of this theory is a progress, constant and steady, often striking and startling, from one degree of evidence and consistence to another of a higher order.
Once again, we see the same evidence of truth in the development of the Undulatory Theory of light, as it is applied from one set of facts to another. We explain Reflection and Refraction through undulations; when we look at Thin Plates, the necessary 'fits' are already included in our basic hypothesis, as they represent the length of an undulation. The phenomena of Diffraction also need these intervals; these required intervals match the others in size, so no new property is necessary. For a moment, Polarization seems to need a new hypothesis; however, that’s not really the case. The direction of our vibrations has been arbitrary until now—we allow polarization to determine it, and we assume the undulations to be transverse. After making this assumption for the sake of Polarization, we examine the phenomena of Double Refraction to see if they need a new hypothesis. But the answer is no; the assumption of transverse vibrations we made to explain Polarization also provides us with the law of Double Refraction. Truth can lead to such coincidences; falsehood cannot. Next, the facts of Dipolarization come into focus. But they don't need a new assumption either, because the different optical elasticity of crystals in different directions, which we already assume for uniaxial crystals, extends to biaxial crystals exactly according to the law of symmetry. Once this is established, the laws of the phenomena, as curious and complex as they may be, are fully explained. The phenomena of Circular Polarization through internal reflection do not require a new hypothesis; instead, they are explained by interpreting an apparently inexplicable result of an older hypothesis. The Circular Polarization of Quartz and Double Refraction may seem to need a new assumption, but it doesn't disrupt the overall theory at all. In summary, the entire history of this theory is a consistent and steady progression, often surprising and remarkable, from one level of evidence and consistency to a higher one.
In the Emission Theory, on the other hand, as in the theory of solid epicycles, we see what we may consider as the natural course of things in the career of a false theory. Such a theory may, to a certain extent, explain the phenomena which it was at first contrived to meet; but every new class of facts requires a new supposition—an addition to the machinery: and as observation goes on, these incoherent appendages accumulate, till they overwhelm and upset the original frame-work. Such has been the hypothesis of the Material Emission of light. In its original form, it explained Reflection and Refraction: but the colours of Thin Plates added to it the Fits of easy Transmission and Reflection; the phenomena of Diffraction further invested the emitted particles with complex laws of Attraction and Repulsion; Polarization gave them Sides: Double Refraction subjected them to peculiar Forces emanating from the axes of the crystal: Finally, Dipolarization loaded them with the complex and unconnected contrivance of Moveable Polarization: and even when all this had been done, additional mechanism was wanting. There is here no unexpected success, no happy coincidence, no convergence of principles from remote quarters. The philosopher builds 95 the machine, but its parts do not fit. They hold together only while he presses them. This is not the character of truth.
In the Emission Theory, unlike the theory of solid epicycles, we can see the natural progression of a flawed theory. Initially, such a theory can explain the phenomena it was designed to address, but each new type of fact demands a new assumption—an addition to the framework. As observations continue, these mismatched additions pile up until they destabilize and dismantle the original structure. This has been the case with the hypothesis of Material Emission of light. In its initial version, it accounted for Reflection and Refraction, but the colors of Thin Plates introduced the concepts of easy Transmission and Reflection. The phenomena of Diffraction added complex laws of Attraction and Repulsion to the emitted particles, while Polarization assigned them Sides. Double Refraction exposed them to unique Forces stemming from the axes of the crystal, and finally, Dipolarization burdened them with the intricate and disconnected mechanism of Moveable Polarization. Yet, even after all this, additional mechanisms were still needed. There is no unexpected success here, no fortunate coincidence, no gathering of principles from distant sources. The philosopher creates the machine, but its components don’t fit together. They only hold as long as he applies pressure. This is not what truth looks like.
As another example of the application of the Maxim now under consideration, I may perhaps be allowed to refer to the judgment which, in the History of Thermotics, I have ventured to give respecting Laplace’s Theory of Gases. I have stated21, that we cannot help forming an unfavourable judgment of this theory, by looking for that great characteristic of true theory; namely, that the hypotheses which were assumed to account for one class of facts are found to explain another class of a different nature. Thus Laplace’s first suppositions explain the connexion of Compression with Density, (the law of Boyle and Mariotte,) and the connexion of Elasticity with Heat, (the law of Dalton and Gay Lussac). But the theory requires other assumptions when we come to Latent Heat; and yet these new assumptions produce no effect upon the calculations in any application of the theory. When the hypothesis, constructed with reference to the Elasticity and Temperature, is applied to another class of facts, those of Latent Heat, we have no Simplification of the Hypothesis, and therefore no evidence of the truth of the theory.
As another example of the application of the Maxim we’re discussing, I’d like to mention the evaluation I offered in the History of Thermotics regarding Laplace’s Theory of Gases. I pointed out21, that we can’t help but form a negative judgment about this theory by seeking that key feature of a true theory; specifically, that the assumptions made to explain one class of facts should also account for another class of a different kind. For instance, Laplace’s initial assumptions clarify the connection between Compression and Density (the law of Boyle and Mariotte), and the link between Elasticity and Heat (the law of Dalton and Gay Lussac). However, the theory needs other assumptions when it comes to Latent Heat, and these new assumptions have no impact on the calculations in any practical use of the theory. When the hypothesis created regarding Elasticity and Temperature is applied to a different set of facts, those of Latent Heat, we don’t see any Simplification of the Hypothesis, which means there’s no proof of the theory’s truth.
13. The last two sections of this chapter direct our attention to two circumstances, which tend to prove, in a manner which we may term irresistible, the truth of the theories which they characterize:—the Consilience of Inductions from different and separate classes of facts;—and the progressive Simplification of the Theory as it is extended to new cases. These two Characters are, in fact, hardly different; they are exemplified by the same cases. For if these Inductions, collected from one class of facts, supply an unexpected explanation of a new class, which is the case first spoken of, there will be no need for new machinery in the hypothesis to apply it to the newly-contemplated facts; and thus, we have a case in which the system does not become 96 more complex when its application is extended to a wider field, which was the character of true theory in its second aspect. The Consiliences of our Inductions give rise to a constant Convergence of our Theory towards Simplicity and Unity.
13. The last two sections of this chapter focus on two situations that strongly support the truth of the theories they describe: the Consilience of Inductions from different and separate classes of facts, and the progressive Simplification of the Theory as it is applied to new cases. These two characteristics are actually quite similar; they are demonstrated by the same examples. If these Inductions, gathered from one class of facts, provide an unexpected explanation for a new class, which is the first situation mentioned, there won’t be a need for new elements in the hypothesis to apply it to the newly considered facts. Thus, we have a case where the system doesn't become 96 more complicated when it’s applied to a broader field, which was a hallmark of a true theory in its second aspect. The Consilience of our Inductions leads to a consistent Convergence of our Theory towards Simplicity and Unity.
But, moreover, both these cases of the extension of the theory, without difficulty or new suppositions, to a wider range and to new classes of phenomena, may be conveniently considered in yet another point of view; namely, as successive steps by which we gradually ascend in our speculative views to a higher and higher point of generality. For when the theory, either by the concurrence of two indications, or by an extension without complication, has included a new range of phenomena, we have, in fact, a new induction of a more general kind, to which the inductions formerly obtained are subordinate, as particular cases to a general proposition. We have in such examples, in short, an instance of successive generalization. This is a subject of great importance, and deserving of being well illustrated; it will come under our notice in the next chapter.
But also, both of these cases of extending the theory, without difficulty or new assumptions, to a broader range and new types of phenomena, can be conveniently viewed from another perspective; specifically, as successive steps where we gradually rise in our theoretical views to a higher level of generality. When the theory, either through the convergence of two indications or by an uncomplicated extension, includes a new range of phenomena, we essentially have a new, more general induction, to which the previously obtained inductions are subordinate, acting as specific cases of a general statement. In these examples, we have, in short, an instance of successive generalization. This is an important topic that deserves thorough exploration; it will be addressed in the next chapter.
CHAPTER VI.
On the Logic of Induction.
Aphorism XVII.
Aphorism 17.
The Logic of Induction consists in stating the Facts and the Inference in such a manner, that the Evidence of the Inference is manifest: just as the Logic of Deduction consists in stating the Premises and the Conclusion in such a manner that the Evidence of the Conclusion is manifest.
The Logic of Induction is about presenting the Facts and the Inference in a way that clearly shows the Evidence of the Inference: just like the Logic of Deduction is about presenting the Premises and the Conclusion in a way that clearly shows the Evidence of the Conclusion.
Aphorism XVIII.
Aphorism XVIII.
The Logic of Deduction is exhibited by means of a certain Formula; namely, a Syllogism; and every train of deductive reasoning, to be demonstrative, must be capable of resolution into a series of such Formulæ legitimately constructed. In like manner, the Logic of Induction may be exhibited by means of certain Formulæ; and every train of inductive inference to be sound, must be capable of resolution into a scheme of such Formulæ, legitimately constructed.
The logic of deduction is shown through a specific formula, known as a syllogism. For deductive reasoning to be demonstrative, it needs to break down into a series of these formulas that are properly constructed. Similarly, the logic of induction can be represented by certain formulas; and for inductive reasoning to be valid, it must be able to break down into a framework of such properly constructed formulas.
Aphorism XIX.
Aphorism 19.
The inductive act of thought by which several Facts are colligated into one Proposition, may be expressed by saying: The several Facts are exactly expressed as one Fact, if, and only if, we adopt the Conceptions and the Assertion of the Proposition.
The inductive act of thought that combines several facts into one statement can be described as follows: The various facts are accurately captured as a single fact if, and only if, we accept the concepts and the assertion of the proposition.
Aphorism XX.
Aphorism XX.
The One Fact, thus inductively obtained from several Facts, may be combined with other Facts, and colligated with them by a new act of Induction. This process may be 98 indefinitely repeated: and these successive processes are the Steps of Induction, or of Generalization, from the lowest to the highest.
The one fact, gathered from several facts, can be combined with other facts and linked to them through a new process of induction. This process can be 98 repeated endlessly: and these ongoing processes are the steps of induction, or generalization, from the lowest to the highest.
Aphorism XXI.
Aphorism 21.
The relation of the successive Steps of Induction may be exhibited by means of an Inductive Table, in which the several Facts are indicated, and tied together by a Bracket, and the Inductive Inference placed on the other side of the Bracket; and this arrangement repeated, so as to form a genealogical Table of each Induction, from the lowest to the highest.
The sequence of the steps in induction can be shown using an Inductive Table, where different facts are displayed and linked together with a bracket, and the inductive inference is placed on the opposite side of the bracket; this setup is repeated to create a genealogical table for each induction, from the most basic to the most advanced.
Aphorism XXII.
Aphorism XXII.
The Logic of Induction is the Criterion of Truth inferred from Facts, as the Logic of Deduction is the Criterion of Truth deduced from necessary Principles. The Inductive Table enables us to apply such a Criterion; for we can determine whether each Induction is verified and justified by the Facts which its Bracket includes; and if each induction in particular be sound, the highest, which merely combines them all, must necessarily be sound also.
The Logic of Induction is the Criterion of Truth derived from Facts, just as the Logic of Deduction is the Criterion of Truth derived from necessary Principles. The Inductive Table allows us to use this Criterion; we can check whether each Induction is confirmed and supported by the Facts included in its Bracket; and if each individual induction is valid, then the overall one, which simply combines them all, must also be valid.
Aphorism XXIII.
Aphorism XXIII.
The distinction of Fact and Theory is only relative. Events and phenomena, considered as Particulars which may be colligated by Induction, are Facts; considered as Generalities already obtained by colligation of other Facts, they are Theories. The same event or phenomenon is a Fact or a Theory, according as it is considered as standing on one side or the other of the Inductive Bracket.
The difference between Fact and Theory is just relative. Events and phenomena, seen as specific instances that can be grouped together through Induction, are Facts; when they are viewed as general concepts that have already been grouped from other Facts, they become Theories. The same event or phenomenon can be considered a Fact or a Theory, depending on whether it's viewed from one side or the other of the Inductive Bracket.
1. THE subject to which the present chapter refers is described by phrases which are at the present day familiarly used in speaking of the progress of knowledge. We hear very frequent mention of ascending from particular to general propositions, and from these to propositions still more general;—of 99 truths included in other truths of a higher degree of generality;—of different stages of generalization;—and of the highest step of the process of discovery, to which all others are subordinate and preparatory. As these expressions, so familiar to our ears, especially since the time of Francis Bacon, denote, very significantly, processes and relations which are of great importance in the formation of science, it is necessary for us to give a clear account of them, illustrated with general exemplifications; and this we shall endeavour to do.
THE topic of this chapter is described using terms that are commonly used today when discussing the advancement of knowledge. We often hear about moving from specific to general statements, and then from those to even more general statements;—about 99 truths that are contained within other, broader truths;—about different levels of generalization;—and about the highest point in the discovery process, to which all others lead and prepare. Since these expressions are so familiar to us, especially since the time of Francis Bacon, they significantly represent processes and relationships that are crucial in the development of science. Therefore, we need to provide a clear explanation of them, illustrated with general examples, and this is what we will attempt to do.
We have, indeed, already explained that science consists of Propositions which include the Facts from which they were collected; and other wider Propositions, collected in like manner from the former, and including them. Thus, that the stars, the moon, the sun, rise, culminate, and set, are facts included in the proposition that the heavens, carrying with them all the celestial bodies, have a diurnal revolution about the axis of the earth. Again, the observed monthly motions of the moon, and the annual motions of the sun, are included in certain propositions concerning the movements of those luminaries with respect to the stars. But all these propositions are really included in the doctrine that the earth, revolving on its axis, moves round the sun, and the moon round the earth. These movements, again, considered as facts, are explained and included in the statement of the forces which the earth exerts upon the moon, and the sun upon the earth. Again, this doctrine of the forces of these three bodies is included in the assertion, that all the bodies of the solar system, and all parts of matter, exert forces, each upon each. And we might easily show that all the leading facts in astronomy are comprehended in the same generalization. In like manner with regard to any other science, so far as its truths have been well established and fully developed, we might show that it consists of a gradation of propositions, proceeding from the most special facts to the most general theoretical assertions. We shall exhibit this gradation in some of the principal branches of science. 100
We have already explained that science is made up of statements that include the facts from which they are derived, as well as broader statements that encompass those facts. For example, the facts that the stars, the moon, and the sun rise, reach their highest point, and set are included in the statement that the heavens, along with all celestial bodies, revolve daily around the Earth's axis. Additionally, the monthly movements of the moon and the annual movements of the sun are included in certain statements about their movements in relation to the stars. However, all these statements are essentially included in the idea that the Earth, rotating on its axis, orbits the sun, while the moon orbits the Earth. These movements, when seen as facts, are explained and included in the description of the gravitational forces the Earth exerts on the moon and the sun on the Earth. Furthermore, this concept of the gravitational forces between these three bodies is included in the assertion that all bodies in the solar system, and all matter, exert forces on each other. We could easily demonstrate that all major facts in astronomy fall under this same generalization. Similarly, regarding any other science, as long as its truths are well-established and fully developed, we could show that it consists of a hierarchy of statements ranging from specific facts to the most general theoretical claims. We will illustrate this hierarchy in some of the key branches of science. 100
2. This gradation of truths, successively included in other truths, may be conveniently represented by Tables resembling the genealogical tables by which the derivation of descendants from a common ancestor is exhibited; except that it is proper in this case to invert the form of the Table, and to make it converge to unity downwards instead of upwards, since it has for its purpose to express, not the derivation of many from one, but the collection of one truth from many things. Two or more co-ordinate facts or propositions may be ranged side by side, and joined by some mark of connexion, (a bracket, as ⏟ or ⎵,) beneath which may be placed the more general proposition which is collected by induction from the former. Again, propositions co-ordinate with this more general one may be placed on a level with it; and the combination of these, and the result of the combination, may be indicated by brackets in the same manner; and so on, through any number of gradations. By this means the streams of knowledge from various classes of facts will constantly run together into a smaller and smaller number of channels; like the confluent rivulets of a great river, coming together from many sources, uniting their ramifications so as to form larger branches, these again uniting in a single trunk. The genealogical tree of each great portion of science, thus formed, will contain all the leading truths of the science arranged in their due co-ordination and subordination. Such Tables, constructed for the sciences of Astronomy and of Optics, will be given at the end of this chapter.
2. This hierarchy of truths, which are progressively included in other truths, can be easily shown using tables similar to genealogical charts that display how descendants come from a common ancestor. However, in this case, it’s appropriate to flip the table upside down, so it converges toward unity at the bottom instead of the top, since the goal is to illustrate not how many come from one, but how one truth is derived from many. Two or more related facts or statements can be placed side by side, connected by a symbol (like a bracket, as ⏟ or ⎵), with a more general statement below that’s inferred from the former. Additionally, statements that relate to this more general one can be aligned with it, and the combination of these can also be indicated by brackets in the same way, and so on, through any number of levels. This way, knowledge from various categories of facts will continuously merge into fewer channels, similar to the small streams that flow into a large river, coming together from many sources and combining their branches to form larger ones, which then unite into a single trunk. The genealogical tree of each major field of science, created this way, will include all the key truths of that science arranged in their appropriate order and hierarchy. Tables for the sciences of Astronomy and Optics will be provided at the end of this chapter.
3. The union of co-ordinate propositions into a proposition of a higher order, which occurs in this Tree of Science wherever two twigs unite in one branch, is, in each case, an example of Induction. The single proposition is collected by the process of induction from its several members. But here we may observe, that the image of a mere union of the parts at each of these points, which the figure of a tree or a river presents, is very inadequate to convey the true state of the case; for in Induction, as we have seen, besides mere collection of particulars, there is always a new conception, a 101 principle of connexion and unity, supplied by the mind, and superinduced upon the particulars. There is not merely a juxta-position of materials, by which the new proposition contains all that its component parts contained; but also a formative act exerted by the understanding, so that these materials are contained in a new shape. We must remember, therefore, that our Inductive Tables, although they represent the elements and the order of these inductive steps, do not fully represent the whole signification of the process in each case.
3. The joining of related propositions into a higher-order proposition, which happens in this Tree of Science whenever two twigs come together to form one branch, is an example of Induction. The individual proposition is gathered through the process of induction from its various components. However, we should note that the image of a mere union of the parts at each of these points, as shown by the figure of a tree or a river, does not accurately reflect the true situation; because in Induction, as we’ve seen, there is not just the simple collection of specifics, but always a new conception, a 101 principle of connection and unity introduced by the mind and added to the specifics. There is not just a juxtaposition of materials, where the new proposition includes everything its parts contained; but also a creative act performed by the understanding, so that these materials are arranged in a new form. Therefore, we must keep in mind that our Inductive Tables, although they illustrate the elements and the order of these inductive steps, do not completely capture the entire significance of the process in each instance.
4. The principal features of the progress of science spoken of in the last chapter are clearly exhibited in these Tables; namely, the Consilience of Inductions and the constant Tendency to Simplicity observable in true theories. Indeed in all cases in which, from propositions of considerable generality, propositions of a still higher degree are obtained, there is a convergence of inductions; and if in one of the lines which thus converge, the steps be rapidly and suddenly made in order to meet the other line, we may consider that we have an example of Consilience. Thus when Newton had collected, from Kepler’s Laws, the Central Force of the sun, and from these, combined with other facts, the Universal Force of all the heavenly bodies, he suddenly turned round to include in his generalization the Precession of the Equinoxes, which he declared to arise from the attraction of the sun and moon upon the protuberant part of the terrestrial spheroid. The apparent remoteness of this fact, in its nature, from the other facts with which he thus associated it, causes this part of his reasoning to strike us as a remarkable example of Consilience. Accordingly, in the Table of Astronomy we find that the columns which contain the facts and theories relative to the sun and planets, after exhibiting several stages of induction within themselves, are at length suddenly connected with a column till then quite distinct, containing the precession of the equinoxes. In like manner, in the Table of Optics, the columns which contain the facts and theories relative to double refraction, and those which 102 include polarization by crystals, each go separately through several stages of induction; and then these two sets of columns are suddenly connected by Fresnel’s mathematical induction, that double refraction and polarization arise from the same cause: thus exhibiting a remarkable Consilience.
4. The main features of scientific progress mentioned in the last chapter are clearly shown in these Tables; specifically, the Consilience of Inductions and the ongoing tendency toward simplicity seen in true theories. In every situation where we derive higher-level propositions from general ones, there’s a convergence of inductions. If, in one of these converging lines, the steps are taken quickly to align with the other line, we can see this as an example of Consilience. For instance, when Newton deduced the Central Force of the sun from Kepler’s Laws and then, combining these with other facts, identified the Universal Force governing all celestial bodies, he quickly included the Precession of the Equinoxes into his generalization. He claimed it resulted from the sun and moon's gravitational pull on the bulging part of the Earth. The apparent disconnect of this fact from the other facts he linked it to makes this part of his reasoning an impressive example of Consilience. In the Table of Astronomy, we see that the columns with facts and theories about the sun and planets, after showing several stages of induction within themselves, suddenly connect with a previously distinct column that covers the precession of the equinoxes. Similarly, in the Table of Optics, the columns containing facts and theories about double refraction and those about polarization by crystals each pass through various stages of induction before being unexpectedly linked by Fresnel’s mathematical induction, which shows that double refraction and polarization come from the same cause: thus creating a notable Consilience.
5. The constant Tendency to Simplicity in the sciences of which the progress is thus represented, appears from the form of the Table itself; for the single trunk into which all the branches converge, contains in itself the substance of all the propositions by means of which this last generalization was arrived at. It is true, that this ultimate result is sometimes not so simple as in the Table it appears: for instance, the ultimate generalization of the Table exhibiting the progress of Physical Optics,—namely, that Light consists in Undulations,—must be understood as including some other hypotheses; as, that the undulations are transverse, that the ether through which they are propagated has its elasticity in crystals and other transparent bodies regulated by certain laws; and the like. Yet still, even acknowledging all the complication thus implied, the Table in question evidences clearly enough the constant advance towards unity, consistency, and simplicity, which have marked the progress of this Theory. The same is the case in the Inductive Table of Astronomy in a still greater degree.
5. The constant Tendency to Simplicity in the sciences that this progress represents is evident from the structure of the Table itself; because the single trunk where all the branches come together contains the essence of all the propositions that led to this final generalization. It's true that this ultimate result is sometimes more complex than it seems in the Table; for example, the ultimate generalization of the Table that shows the progress of Physical Optics—that Light consists of Undulations—must be understood to include additional hypotheses, such as the undulations being transverse, and that the ether through which they travel has its elasticity in crystals and other transparent materials governed by specific laws, and so on. Still, even considering all the complexities implied, the Table clearly shows the ongoing movement toward unity, consistency, and simplicity, which has characterized the advancement of this Theory. The same applies to the Inductive Table of Astronomy to an even greater extent.
6. These Tables naturally afford the opportunity of assigning to each of the distinct steps of which the progress of science consists, the name of the Discoverer to whom it is due. Every one of the inductive processes which the brackets of our Tables mark, directs our attention to some person by whom the induction was first distinctly made. These names I have endeavoured to put in their due places in the Tables; and the Inductive Tree of our knowledge in each science becomes, in this way, an exhibition of the claims of each discoverer to distinction, and, as it were, a Genealogical Tree of scientific nobility. It is by no means pretended that such a tree includes the 103 names of all the meritorious labourers in each department of science. Many persons are most usefully employed in collecting and verifying truths, who do not advance to any new truths. The labours of a number of such are included in each stage of our ascent. But such Tables as we have now before us will present to us the names of all the most eminent discoverers: for the main steps of which the progress of science consists, are transitions from more particular to more general truths, and must therefore be rightly given by these Tables; and those must be the greatest names in science to whom the principal events of its advance are thus due.
6. These tables provide a natural opportunity to assign a name to each distinct step in the progress of science, recognizing the Discoverer responsible for it. Each inductive process marked in our tables directs our attention to the person who first made that induction clear. I have tried to place these names appropriately in the tables, and the Inductive Tree of our knowledge in each science thus becomes an illustration of each discoverer's claim to recognition, essentially creating a Genealogical Tree of scientific achievement. It's important to note that this tree doesn't include the names of all the deserving contributors in each scientific field. Many individuals are engaged in valuable work collecting and verifying truths, but they may not contribute any new insights. The contributions of many such individuals are reflected in each stage of our progress. However, the tables we have will highlight the names of the most significant discoverers, as the main milestones in the advancement of science represent shifts from specific to more general truths, which these tables accurately depict. Therefore, the greatest names in science are those to whom the key events of its progress are attributed.
7. The Tables, as we have presented them, exhibit the course by which we pass from Particular to General through various gradations, and so to the most general. They display the order of discovery. But by reading them in an inverted manner, beginning at the single comprehensive truths with which the Tables end, and tracing these back into the more partial truths, and these again into special facts, they answer another purpose;—they exhibit the process of verification of discoveries once made. For each of our general propositions is true in virtue of the truth of the narrower propositions which it involves; and we cannot satisfy ourselves of its truth in any other way than by ascertaining that these its constituent elements are true. To assure ourselves that the sun attracts the planets with forces varying inversely as the square of the distance, we must analyse by geometry the motion of a body in an ellipse about the focus, so as to see that such a motion does imply such a force. We must also verify those calculations by which the observed places of each planet are stated to be included in an ellipse. These calculations involve assumptions respecting the path which the earth describes about the sun, which assumptions must again be verified by reference to observation. And thus, proceeding from step to step, we resolve the most general truths into their constituent parts; and these again into their parts; and by testing, at each step, both the reality of the asserted ingredients and the propriety 104 of the conjunction, we establish the whole system of truths, however wide and various it may be.
7. The Tables, as we’ve presented them, show the path we take from specific to general through different stages, ultimately reaching the most general concepts. They illustrate the order of discovery. However, by reading them backward—starting with the broad comprehensive truths at the end of the Tables and tracing them back to narrower truths, and then to specific facts—they serve another purpose: they demonstrate the process of verification of discoveries that have already been made. Each of our general statements is true because of the truth of the more specific statements that it includes, and we can only be confident in its truth by confirming that these components are true. To verify that the sun attracts the planets with forces that vary inversely with the square of the distance, we need to analyze the motion of a body in an ellipse around the focus using geometry, showing that such motion implies that kind of force. We also need to check the calculations that show the observed positions of each planet fit within an ellipse. These calculations make assumptions about the path the Earth takes around the sun, which also need to be verified through observation. Therefore, by moving step by step, we break down the most general truths into their parts, and then into smaller parts again. By testing the reality of the stated components and the validity of their connections at each step, we establish the entire system of truths, no matter how broad or varied it may be.
8. It is a very great advantage, in such a mode of exhibiting scientific truths, that it resolves the verification of the most complex and comprehensive theories, into a number of small steps, of which almost any one falls within the reach of common talents and industry. That if the particulars of any one step be true, the generalization also is true, any person with a mind properly disciplined may satisfy himself by a little study. That each of these particular propositions is true, may be ascertained, by the same kind of attention, when this proposition is resolved into its constituent and more special propositions. And thus we may proceed, till the most general truth is broken up into small and manageable portions. Of these portions, each may appear by itself narrow and easy; and yet they are so woven together, by hypothesis and conjunction, that the truth of the parts necessarily assures us of the truth of the whole. The verification is of the same nature as the verification of a large and complex statement of great sums received by a mercantile office on various accounts from many quarters. The statement is separated into certain comprehensive heads, and these into others less extensive; and these again into smaller collections of separate articles, each of which can be inquired into and reported on by separate persons. And thus at last, the mere addition of numbers performed by these various persons, and the summation of the results which they obtain, executed by other accountants, is a complete and entire security that there is no errour in the whole of the process.
8. A huge benefit of presenting scientific truths this way is that it breaks down the validation of complex theories into small steps, each of which is manageable for most people with regular skills and effort. If the details of any one step are accurate, then the overall conclusion is accurate, and anyone with a well-trained mind can confirm this with a bit of study. We can determine the truth of each specific claim through the same focused attention when that claim is broken down into its basic and more specific statements. This process allows us to keep breaking down the most general truth into smaller and more manageable parts. Each part may seem simple and easy on its own, but they are tightly connected through hypotheses and combinations, so the truth of the individual parts guarantees the truth of the whole. This verification is similar to validating a large and intricate statement about significant sums received by a business from various sources. The statement is divided into broad categories, which are then subdivided into smaller categories; these are further split into individual items that can each be investigated and reported on by different people. Finally, the simple addition of figures done by these various individuals, along with the total calculated by other accountants, provides complete assurance that there are no errors in the entire process.
9. This comparison of the process by which we verify scientific truth to the process of Book-keeping in a large commercial establishment, may appear to some persons not sufficiently dignified for the subject. But, in fact, the possibility of giving this formal and business-like aspect to the evidence of science, as involved in the process of successive generalization, is an inestimable advantage. For if no one could pronounce concerning a wide and profound theory except he who 105 could at once embrace in his mind the whole range of inference, extending from the special facts up to the most general principles, none but the greatest geniuses would be entitled to judge concerning the truth or errour of scientific discoveries. But, in reality, we seldom need to verify more than one or two steps of such discoveries at one time; and this may commonly be done (when the discoveries have been fully established and developed,) by any one who brings to the task clear conceptions and steady attention. The progress of science is gradual: the discoveries which are successively made, are also verified successively. We have never any very large collections of them on our hands at once. The doubts and uncertainties of any one who has studied science with care and perseverance are generally confined to a few points. If he can satisfy himself upon these, he has no misgivings respecting the rest of the structure; which has indeed been repeatedly verified by other persons in like manner. The fact that science is capable of being resolved into separate processes of verification, is that which renders it possible to form a great body of scientific truth, by adding together a vast number of truths, of which many men, at various times and by multiplied efforts, have satisfied themselves. The treasury of Science is constantly rich and abundant, because it accumulates the wealth which is thus gathered by so many, and reckoned over by so many more: and the dignity of Knowledge is no more lowered by the multiplicity of the tasks on which her servants are employed, and the narrow field of labour to which some confine themselves, than the rich merchant is degraded by the number of offices which it is necessary for him to maintain, and the minute articles of which he requires an exact statement from his accountants.
9. This comparison of how we verify scientific truths to the process of bookkeeping in a large business may seem to some people not serious enough for the topic. But actually, the ability to give a formal and business-like approach to the evidence of science, as involved in the process of successive generalization, is an invaluable advantage. If no one could speak about a broad and deep theory unless they could immediately grasp the entire range of inferences, from specific facts to the most general principles, only the greatest geniuses would be able to judge the truth or error of scientific discoveries. However, in reality, we rarely need to verify more than one or two steps of such discoveries at a time; and this can usually be done (when the discoveries have been fully established and developed) by anyone who approaches the task with clear ideas and focused attention. The progress of science is gradual: the discoveries made are also verified one by one. We never have very large collections of them to deal with all at once. The doubts and uncertainties of anyone who has carefully and persistently studied science typically focus on just a few points. If they can resolve these, they have no reservations about the rest of the structure, which has indeed been repeatedly verified by others in a similar way. The fact that science can be broken down into separate processes of verification is what makes it possible to build a large body of scientific truth by adding together numerous truths, which many individuals have validated over time through various efforts. The treasury of Science is always rich and abundant because it collects the knowledge gathered by so many, and counted by even more: and the dignity of Knowledge is not diminished by the many tasks that its workers are involved in or the limited areas of work that some choose to focus on, just as the wealthy merchant is not lessened by the number of roles he must oversee or the detailed accounts he requires from his bookkeepers.
10. The analysis of doctrines inductively obtained, into their constituent facts, and the arrangement of them in such a form that the conclusiveness of the induction may be distinctly seen, may be termed the Logic of Induction. By Logic has generally been meant a system which teaches us so to arrange our 106 reasonings that their truth or falsehood shall be evident in their form. In deductive reasonings, in which the general principles are assumed, and the question is concerning their application and combination in particular cases, the device which thus enables us to judge whether our reasonings are conclusive is the Syllogism; and this form, along with the rules which belong to it, does in fact supply us with a criterion of deductive or demonstrative reasoning. The Inductive Table, such as it is presented in the present chapter, in like manner supplies the means of ascertaining the truth of our inductive inferences, so far as the form in which our reasoning may be stated can afford such a criterion. Of course some care is requisite in order to reduce a train of demonstration into the form of a series of syllogisms; and certainly not less thought and attention are required for resolving all the main doctrines of any great department of science into a graduated table of co-ordinate and subordinate inductions. But in each case, when this task is once executed, the evidence or want of evidence of our conclusions appears immediately in a most luminous manner. In each step of induction, our Table enumerates the particular facts, and states the general theoretical truth which includes these and which these constitute. The special act of attention by which we satisfy ourselves that the facts are so included,—that the general truth is so constituted,—then affords little room for errour, with moderate attention and clearness of thought.
10. Analyzing doctrines that have been gathered inductively, breaking them down into their basic facts, and organizing them in a way that clearly shows the strength of the induction can be called the Logic of Induction. Generally, Logic refers to a system designed to help us arrange our reasoning so that we can easily see whether it's true or false based on its structure. In deductive reasoning, where we start with general principles and examine how they apply to specific cases, the method that allows us to determine if our reasoning is conclusive is called the Syllogism; this form, along with its associated rules, gives us a way to evaluate deductive or demonstrative reasoning. Similarly, the Inductive Table presented in this chapter provides the means to verify the truth of our inductive conclusions as far as the way our reasoning is laid out can offer such a standard. Naturally, some effort is needed to convert a demonstration into a series of syllogisms, and it certainly takes considerable thought and attention to break down the key principles of a significant area of science into a structured table of related and subordinate inductions. However, once this task is completed, the evidence for or against our conclusions becomes clear and apparent. For each step of induction, our Table lists the specific facts and specifies the general theoretical truth that encompasses them and of which they are a part. The focused attention we give to confirming that the facts are included—that the general truth is structured this way—leaves little room for error, provided we maintain moderate focus and clarity of thought.
11. We may find an example of this act of attention thus required, at any one of the steps of induction in our Tables; for instance, at the step in the early progress of astronomy at which it was inferred, that the earth is a globe, and that the sphere of the heavens (relatively) performs a diurnal revolution round this globe of the earth. How was this established in the belief of the Greeks, and how is it fixed in our conviction? As to the globular form, we find that as we travel to the north, the apparent pole of the heavenly motions, and the constellations which are near it, seem to mount higher, and as we proceed southwards they descend. 107 Again, if we proceed from two different points considerably to the east and west of each other, and travel directly northwards from each, as from the south of Spain to the north of Scotland, and from Greece to Scandinavia, these two north and south lines will be much nearer to each other in their northern than in their southern parts. These and similar facts, as soon as they are clearly estimated and connected in the mind, are seen to be consistent with a convex surface of the earth, and with no other: and this notion is further confirmed by observing that the boundary of the earth’s shadow upon the moon is always circular; it being supposed to be already established that the moon receives her light from the sun, and that lunar eclipses are caused by the interposition of the earth. As for the assertion of the (relative) diurnal revolution of the starry sphere, it is merely putting the visible phenomena in an exact geometrical form: and thus we establish and verify the doctrine of the revolution of the sphere of the heavens about the globe of the earth, by contemplating it so as to see that it does really and exactly include the particular facts from which it is collected.
11. We can find an example of this act of attention at any of the steps of induction in our Tables; for example, at the point in the early development of astronomy when it was concluded that the Earth is a globe, and that the sphere of the heavens moves in a daily rotation around this globe. How did the Greeks come to believe this, and how is it established in our understanding? Regarding the Earth's spherical shape, we notice that as we travel north, the apparent pole of the heavenly motions, along with the constellations nearby, seems to rise higher, while as we move south, they appear to descend. 107 Furthermore, if we travel directly north from two different points significantly far apart from each other, such as from the south of Spain to the north of Scotland, and from Greece to Scandinavia, those two north-south lines converge much more closely in their northern sections than in their southern sections. These and similar observations, once clearly assessed and connected in our minds, are seen to be consistent with a convex surface of the Earth and no other. This idea is further supported by noting that the boundary of the Earth's shadow on the moon is always circular, given that it's already established that the moon gets its light from the sun, and that lunar eclipses happen due to the Earth coming between them. As for the claim about the (relative) daily revolution of the starry sphere, it's simply a way of representing visible phenomena in a precise geometric manner: thus, we demonstrate and validate the theory that the sphere of the heavens rotates around the globe of the Earth by observing it and confirming that it truly encompasses the specific facts from which this theory is derived.
We may, in like manner, illustrate this mode of verification by any of the other steps of the same Table. Thus if we take the great Induction of Copernicus, the heliocentric scheme of the solar system, we find it in the Table exhibited as including and explaining, first, the diurnal revolution just spoken of; second, the motions of the moon among the fixed stars; third, the motions of the planets with reference to the fixed stars and the sun; fourth, the motion of the sun in the ecliptic. And the scheme being clearly conceived, we see that all the particular facts are faithfully represented by it; and this agreement, along with the simplicity of the scheme, in which respect it is so far superior to any other conception of the solar system, persuade us that it is really the plan of nature.
We can similarly demonstrate this method of verification using any of the other steps in the same Table. For instance, if we consider Copernicus’s significant discovery of the heliocentric model of the solar system, we see it highlighted in the Table as encompassing and explaining, first, the daily rotation just mentioned; second, the movements of the moon among the fixed stars; third, the movements of the planets in relation to the fixed stars and the sun; fourth, the sun’s movement along the ecliptic. With the scheme clearly understood, we see that all the specific facts are accurately represented by it; and this alignment, combined with the simplicity of the scheme—making it far superior to any other model of the solar system—convinces us that it truly reflects the design of nature.
In exactly the same way, if we attend to any of the several remarkable discoveries of Newton, which form the principal steps in the latter part of the Table, as for instance, the proposition that the sun attracts all 108 the planets with a force which varies inversely as the square of the distance, we find it proved by its including three other propositions previously established;—first, that the sun’s mean force on different planets follows the specified variation (which is proved from Kepler’s third law); second, that the force by which each planet is acted upon in different parts of its orbit tends to the sun (which is proved by the equable description of areas); third, that this force in different parts of the same orbit is also inversely as the square of the distance (which is proved from the elliptical form of the orbit). And the Newtonian generalization, when its consequences are mathematically traced, is seen to agree with each of these particular propositions, and thus is fully established.
In the same way, if we look at some of Newton's notable discoveries that are key to the latter part of the Table, such as the idea that the sun pulls all the planets with a force that decreases as the distance increases, we see it backed by three other previously established propositions: first, that the sun’s average force on different planets follows this specified change (which comes from Kepler’s third law); second, that the force acting on each planet in various parts of its orbit pulls it toward the sun (which is proven by the uniform coverage of areas); third, that this force at different points in the same orbit also decreases with the square of the distance (which is shown by the elliptical shape of the orbit). When we mathematically trace the consequences of Newton's generalization, we find it matches each of these specific propositions, thereby confirming its validity.
12. But when we say that the more general proposition includes the several more particular ones, we must recollect what has before been said, that these particulars form the general truth, not by being merely enumerated and added together, but by being seen in a new light. No mere verbal recitation of the particulars can decide whether the general proposition is true; a special act of thought is requisite in order to determine how truly each is included in the supposed induction. In this respect the Inductive Table is not like a mere schedule of accounts, where the rightness of each part of the reckoning is tested by mere addition of the particulars. On the contrary, the Inductive truth is never the mere sum of the facts. It is made into something more by the introduction of a new mental element; and the mind, in order to be able to supply this element, must have peculiar endowments and discipline. Thus looking back at the instances noticed in the last article, how are we to see that a convex surface of the earth is necessarily implied by the convergence of meridians towards the north, or by the visible descent of the north pole of the heavens as we travel south? Manifestly the student, in order to see this, must have clear conceptions of the relations of space, either naturally inherent in his mind, or established there by geometrical cultivation,—by 109 studying the properties of circles and spheres. When he is so prepared, he will feel the force of the expressions we have used, that the facts just mentioned are seen to be consistent with a globular form of the earth; but without such aptitude he will not see this consistency: and if this be so, the mere assertion of it in words will not avail him in satisfying himself of the truth of the proposition.
12. When we say that the broader statement includes the various more specific ones, we need to remember what has been stated before: these specifics make up the general truth, not just by being listed and added together, but by being viewed in a new light. Simply repeating the specifics won't determine if the general statement is true; a thoughtful analysis is needed to figure out how accurately each is included in the supposed conclusion. In this way, the Inductive Table isn’t like just a list of accounts where the correctness of each part is checked by simply adding the specifics. Instead, the Inductive truth is never just the sum of the facts. It becomes something more through the introduction of a new mental aspect; and for the mind to provide this aspect, it needs certain abilities and training. Looking back at the examples mentioned in the last article, how can we understand that a convex surface of the earth is necessarily indicated by the convergence of meridians toward the north, or by the visible descent of the north pole of the heavens as we move south? Clearly, the student needs to have a solid understanding of spatial relationships, either naturally in their mind or developed through geometrical study—by 109 investigating the properties of circles and spheres. Once they are prepared, they will recognize the validity of the statements we've made, that the facts noted are seen to be consistent with a spherical shape of the earth; but without this capability, they won't see this consistency: and if that’s the case, merely stating it in words won’t help them ascertain the truth of the proposition.
In like manner, in order to perceive the force of the Copernican induction, the student must have his mind so disciplined by geometrical studies, or otherwise, that he sees clearly how absolute motion and relative motion would alike produce apparent motion. He must have learnt to cast away all prejudices arising from the seeming fixity of the earth; and then he will see that there is nothing which stands in the way of the induction, while there is much which is on its side. And in the same manner the Newtonian induction of the law of the sun’s force from the elliptical form of the orbit, will be evidently satisfactory to him only who has such an insight into Mechanics as to see that a curvilinear path must arise from a constantly deflecting force; and who is able to follow the steps of geometrical reasoning by which, from the properties of the ellipse, Newton proves this deflection to be in the proportion in which he asserts the force to be. And thus in all cases the inductive truth must indeed be verified by comparing it with the particular facts; but then this comparison is possible for him only whose mind is properly disciplined and prepared in the use of those conceptions, which, in addition to the facts, the act of induction requires.
Similarly, to grasp the significance of the Copernican theory, a student must train their mind through geometry or related studies to clearly understand how both absolute and relative motion create apparent motion. They need to discard any biases stemming from the Earth's perceived immobility and realize that there’s nothing obstructing this theory—rather, there's plenty supporting it. Likewise, the Newtonian theory, which connects the sun's force to the elliptical shape of orbits, will only be clear to someone who possesses enough knowledge of mechanics to understand that a curved path results from a continuously changing force. They must also be able to follow the geometric reasoning through which Newton demonstrates that this deflection correlates with the force he claims. Thus, in every case, the validity of inductive reasoning must be checked against specific facts; however, this comparison is only achievable for those whose minds are properly trained and prepared with the concepts needed for induction, alongside the facts.
13. In the Tables some indication is given, at several of the steps, of the act which the mind must thus perform, besides the mere conjunction of facts, in order to attain to the inductive truth. Thus in the cases of the Newtonian inductions just spoken of, the inferences are stated to be made ‘By Mechanics;’ and in the case of the Copernican induction, it is said that, ‘By the nature of motion, the apparent motion is the same, whether the heavens or the earth have a 110 diurnal motion; and the latter is more simple.’ But these verbal statements are to be understood as mere hints22: they cannot supersede the necessity of the student’s contemplating for himself the mechanical principles and the nature of motion thus referred to.
13. In the Tables, some indication is given at several points about the actions that the mind must take, beyond just connecting facts, to reach the inductive truth. For example, when discussing the Newtonian inductions mentioned earlier, it states that the inferences are made ‘By Mechanics;’ and regarding the Copernican induction, it notes that ‘By the nature of motion, the apparent motion is the same, whether the heavens or the earth have a 110 diurnal motion; and the latter is more simple.’ However, these statements are just hints: they cannot replace the need for students to think for themselves about the mechanical principles and the nature of motion being discussed.
14. In the common or Syllogistic Logic, a certain Formula of language is used in stating the reasoning, and is useful in enabling us more readily to apply the Criterion of Form to alleged demonstrations. This formula is the usual Syllogism; with its members, Major Premiss, Minor Premiss, and Conclusion. It may naturally be asked whether in Inductive Logic there is any such Formula? whether there is any standard form of words in which we may most properly express the inference of a general truth from particular facts?
14. In common or Syllogistic Logic, a specific Formula of language is used to present reasoning, which helps us more easily apply the Criterion of Form to supposed demonstrations. This formula is the standard Syllogism, consisting of its parts: Major Premise, Minor Premise, and Conclusion. One might naturally wonder if there is a similar Formula in Inductive Logic. Is there a standard way of phrasing that allows us to properly express the inference of a general truth from specific facts?
At first it might be supposed that the formula of Inductive Logic need only be of this kind: ‘These particulars, and all known particulars of the same kind, are exactly included in the following general proposition.’ But a moment’s reflection on what has just been said will show us that this is not sufficient: for the particulars are not merely included in the general proposition. It is not enough that they appertain to it by enumeration. It is, for instance, no adequate example of Induction to say, ‘Mercury describes an elliptical path, so does Venus, so do the Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus; therefore all the Planets describe elliptical paths.’ This is, as we have seen, the mode of stating the evidence when the proposition is once suggested; but the Inductive step consists in the suggestion of a conception not before apparent. When Kepler, after trying to connect the observed places of the planet Mars in many other ways, found at last that the conception of an ellipse would include them all, he obtained a truth by induction: for this conclusion was not obviously included in the phenomena, and had not been applied to these 111 facts previously. Thus in our Formula, besides stating that the particulars are included in the general proposition, we must also imply that the generality is constituted by a new Conception,—new at least in its application.
At first, you might think that the formula of Inductive Logic only needs to be this: ‘These specific examples, and all known examples of the same kind, are exactly included in the following general statement.’ But a moment's thought about what we just discussed will show that this isn’t enough: the specifics are not just included in the general statement. It’s not sufficient for them to belong to it just because of listing. For instance, it’s not a strong example of Induction to say, ‘Mercury travels in an elliptical path, so does Venus, so do the Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus; therefore all the Planets travel in elliptical paths.’ This is, as we’ve seen, just the way to state the evidence once the statement is suggested; but the Inductive step involves the suggestion of a concept that wasn’t apparent before. When Kepler, after trying to relate the observed positions of the planet Mars in many other ways, finally found that the concept of an ellipse could encompass them all, he discovered a truth through induction: for this conclusion wasn’t clearly included in the observations and hadn’t been applied to these 111 facts earlier. Thus, in our formula, besides stating that the specifics are included in the general statement, we must also imply that the generality is formed by a new concept—new, at least, in its application.
Hence our Inductive Formula might be something like the following: ‘These particulars, and all known particulars of the same kind, are exactly expressed by adopting the Conceptions and Statement of the following Proposition.’ It is of course requisite that the Conceptions should be perfectly clear, and should precisely embrace the facts, according to the explanation we have already given of those conditions.
Hence our Inductive Formula might look something like this: ‘These specifics, along with all known specifics of the same type, are accurately represented by using the Concepts and Statement of the following Proposition.’ It is, of course, necessary for the Concepts to be completely clear and to accurately encompass the facts, as we have already explained regarding those conditions.
15. It may happen, as we have already stated, that the Explication of a Conception, by which it acquires its due distinctness, leads to a Definition, which Definition may be taken as the summary and total result of the intellectual efforts to which this distinctness is due. In such cases, the Formula of Induction may be modified according to this condition; and we may state the inference by saying, after an enumeration and analysis of the appropriate facts, ‘These facts are completely and distinctly expressed by adopting the following Definition and Proposition.’
15. As we’ve already mentioned, explaining a concept, which gives it the clarity it needs, can lead to a definition. This definition can be seen as a summary and the final outcome of the intellectual efforts that brought about this clarity. In these situations, the Formula of Induction might be adjusted based on this condition; we can express the inference by saying, after listing and analyzing the relevant facts, ‘These facts are fully and clearly represented by using the following definition and proposition.’
This Formula has been adopted in stating the Inductive
Propositions which constitute the basis of the
science of Mechanics, in a work intitled The Mechanical
Euclid. The fundamental truths of the subject
are expressed in Inductive Pairs of Assertions, consisting
each of a Definition and a Proposition, such as
the following:
Def.—A Uniform Force
is that which acting in the
direction of the body’s motion, adds or subtracts equal
velocities in equal times.
Prop.—Gravity is a Uniform Force.
Again,
Def.—Two Motions are
compounded when each
produces its separate effect in a direction parallel to
itself.
Prop.—When any Force acts upon a body in motion,
the motion which the Force would produce in the 112
body at rest is compounded with the previous motion
of the body.
And in like manner in other cases.
This formula has been used to present the inductive propositions that form the foundation of mechanics in a work titled The Mechanical Euclid. The essential truths of the subject are conveyed in Inductive Pairs of assertions, each made up of a definition and a proposition, such as the following:
Def.—A Uniform Force is one that, when applied in the direction of the body's motion, adds or subtracts equal velocities over equal time periods.
Props.—Gravity is a Uniform Force.
Furthermore,
Def.—Two Motions are considered compounded when each has its own effect in a direction that is parallel to itself.
Props.—When a Force acts on a moving body, the motion that the Force would generate in a stationary body combines with the existing motion of the body.
And similarly in other instances.
In these cases the proposition is, of course, established, and the definition realized, by an enumeration of the facts. And in the case of inferences made in such a form, the Definition of the Conception and the Assertion of the Truth are both requisite and are correlative to one another. Each of the two steps contains the verification and justification of the other. The Proposition derives its meaning from the Definition; the Definition derives its reality from the Proposition. If they are separated, the Definition is arbitrary or empty, the Proposition vague or ambiguous.
In these situations, the claim is clearly established, and the definition is realized, by listing the facts. When inferences are made in this way, both the Definition of the Concept and the Assertion of the Truth are necessary and interrelated. Each of these two steps verifies and justifies the other. The Proposition gets its meaning from the Definition; the Definition gains its substance from the Proposition. If they are separated, the Definition becomes arbitrary or meaningless, while the Proposition becomes unclear or ambiguous.
16. But it must be observed that neither of the preceding Formulæ expresses the full cogency of the inductive proof. They declare only that the results can be clearly explained and rigorously deduced by the employment of a certain Definition and a certain Proposition. But in order to make the conclusion demonstrative, which in perfect examples of Induction it is, we ought to be able to declare that the results can be clearly explained and rigorously declared only by the Definition and Proposition which we adopt. And in reality, the conviction of the sound inductive reasoner does reach to this point. The Mathematician asserts the Laws of Motion, seeing clearly that they (or laws equivalent to them) afford the only means of clearly expressing and deducing the actual facts. But this conviction, that the inductive inference is not only consistent with the facts, but necessary, finds its place in the mind gradually, as the contemplation of the consequences of the proposition, and the various relations of the facts, becomes steady and familiar. It is scarcely possible for the student at once to satisfy himself that the inference is thus inevitable. And when he arrives at this conviction, he sees also, in many cases at least, that there may be other ways of expressing the substance of the truth established, besides that special Proposition which he has under his notice. 113
16. However, it should be noted that neither of the previous formulas fully captures the strength of the inductive proof. They only state that the results can be clearly explained and rigorously derived using a specific definition and a specific proposition. To make the conclusion definitive, as it is in perfect examples of induction, we should be able to say that the results can be clearly explained and rigorously established only by the definition and proposition we choose. In reality, the conviction of a sound inductive reasoner extends to this point. The mathematician posits the laws of motion, clearly understanding that these (or equivalent laws) provide the only means of accurately expressing and deducing the actual facts. This belief, that the inductive inference is not only consistent with the facts but also necessary, develops gradually in the mind as the contemplation of the consequences of the proposition and the various relationships among the facts become steady and familiar. It's almost impossible for a student to immediately convince themselves that the inference is thus inevitable. When they do reach this conviction, they often realize, in many cases at least, that there may be other ways to express the essence of the truth established, in addition to the specific proposition they are considering. 113
We may, therefore, without impropriety, renounce the undertaking of conveying in our formula this final conviction of the necessary truth of our inference. We may leave it to be thought, without insisting upon saying it, that in such cases what can be true, is true. But if we wish to express the ultimate significance of the Inductive Act of thought, we may take as our Formula for the Colligation of Facts by Induction, this:—‘The several Facts are exactly expressed as one Fact if, and only if, we adopt the Conception and the Assertion’ of the inductive inference.
We can, therefore, without any issue, step back from trying to express in our formula this final belief in the essential truth of our conclusion. We can let it be understood, without explicitly stating it, that in such cases what can be true, is true. However, if we want to convey the ultimate importance of the Inductive Act of thought, we can summarize our Formula for the Colligation of Facts by Induction as follows: ‘The various Facts are precisely represented as one Fact if, and only if, we adopt the Concept and the Assertion’ of the inductive inference.
17. I have said that the mind must be properly disciplined in order that it may see the necessary connexion between the facts and the general proposition in which they are included. And the perception of this connexion, though treated as one step in our inductive inference, may imply many steps of demonstrative proof. The connexion is this, that the particular case is included in the general one, that is, may be deduced from it: but this deduction may often require many links of reasoning. Thus in the case of the inference of the law of the force from the elliptical form of the orbit by Newton, the proof that in the ellipse the deflection from the tangent is inversely as the square of the distance from the focus of the ellipse, is a ratiocination consisting of several steps, and involving several properties of Conic Sections; these properties being supposed to be previously established by a geometrical system of demonstration on the special subject of the Conic Sections. In this and similar cases the Induction involves many steps of Deduction. And in such cases, although the Inductive Step, the Invention of the Conception, is really the most important, yet since, when once made, it occupies a familiar place in men’s minds; and since the Deductive Demonstration is of considerable length and requires intellectual effort to follow it at every step; men often admire the deductive part of the proposition, the geometrical or algebraical demonstration, far more than that part in which the philosophical merit really resides. 114
17. I've mentioned that the mind needs to be properly trained to recognize the necessary connection between the facts and the general concept they fit into. Although this connection is considered one step in our inductive reasoning, it may involve many steps of proof. The connection is that the specific case is part of the general case, meaning it can be deduced from it: however, this deduction often requires multiple links of reasoning. For instance, in Newton's inference of the law of force from the elliptical shape of an orbit, the proof that in an ellipse, the deflection from the tangent is inversely proportional to the square of the distance from the focus consists of several steps and involves various properties of Conic Sections. These properties are assumed to be previously established through a geometrical demonstration specific to Conic Sections. In such cases, Induction encompasses many steps of Deduction. Although the Inductive Step, which is the creation of the concept, is the most significant, once established, it becomes familiar to people. Because the Deductive Demonstration is quite lengthy and requires intellectual effort to follow at every step, individuals often admire the deductive aspect of the proposition, the geometrical or algebraical proof, much more than the part where the philosophical value truly lies. 114
18. Deductive reasoning is virtually a collection of syllogisms, as has already been stated: and in such reasoning, the general principles, the Definitions and Axioms, necessarily stand at the beginning of the demonstration. In an inductive inference, the Definitions and Principles are the final result of the reasoning, the ultimate effect of the proof. Hence when an Inductive Proposition is to be established by a proof involving several steps of demonstrative reasoning, the enunciation of the Proposition will contain, explicitly or implicitly, principles which the demonstration proceeds upon as axioms, but which are really inductive inferences. Thus in order to prove that the force which retains a planet in an ellipse varies inversely as the square of the distance, it is taken for granted that the Laws of Motion are true, and that they apply to the planets. Yet the doctrine that this is so, as well as the law of the force, were established only by this and the like demonstrations. The doctrine which is the hypothesis of the deductive reasoning, is the inference of the inductive process. The special facts which are the basis of the inductive inference, are the conclusion of the train of deduction. And in this manner the deduction establishes the induction. The principle which we gather from the facts is true, because the facts can be derived from it by rigorous demonstration. Induction moves upwards, and deduction downwards, on the same stair.
18. Deductive reasoning is basically a set of syllogisms, as previously mentioned. In this type of reasoning, the general principles, Definitions, and Axioms must be at the beginning of the argument. In contrast, in an inductive inference, the Definitions and Principles are the final result of the reasoning, the ultimate conclusion of the proof. So, when we want to prove an Inductive Proposition through several steps of logical reasoning, the statement of the Proposition will include, either directly or indirectly, principles that the argument relies on as axioms, but these are actually inductive inferences. For example, to prove that the force keeping a planet in an ellipse decreases with the square of the distance, we assume that the Laws of Motion are accurate and applicable to the planets. However, this understanding, along with the law of the force, was only established through this kind of reasoning. The principle that serves as the hypothesis in deductive reasoning is the inference derived from the inductive process. The specific facts that support the inductive inference are conclusions drawn from the deductive reasoning. In this way, deduction reinforces induction. The principle we derive from the facts is valid because the facts can be logically concluded from it. Induction works its way up, while deduction works its way down, on the same stair.
But still there is a great difference in the character of their movements. Deduction descends steadily and methodically, step by step: Induction mounts by a leap which is out of the reach of method. She bounds to the top of the stair at once; and then it is the business of Deduction, by trying each step in order, to establish the solidity of her companion’s footing. Yet these must be processes of the same mind. The Inductive Intellect makes an assertion which is subsequently justified by demonstration; and it shows its sagacity, its peculiar character, by enunciating the proposition when as yet the demonstration does not 115 exist: but then it shows that it is sagacity, by also producing the demonstration.
But there’s still a big difference in how they operate. Deduction works steadily and methodically, step by step: Induction leaps forward in a way that’s beyond method. It jumps straight to the top of the stairs; then it’s Deduction’s job to check each step in sequence to verify the stability of its partner’s footing. Yet these processes come from the same mind. The Inductive Mind makes a claim that gets proven later; it shows its cleverness and unique nature by stating the idea even before the proof exists: but then it proves that it really is clever by also providing the proof.
It has been said that inductive and deductive reasoning are contrary in their scheme; that in Deduction we infer particular from general truths; while in Induction we infer general from particular: that Deduction consists of many steps, in each of which we apply known general propositions in particular cases; while in Induction we have a single step, in which we pass from many particular truths to one general proposition. And this is truly said; but though contrary in their motions, the two are the operation of the same mind travelling over the same ground. Deduction is a necessary part of Induction. Deduction justifies by calculation what Induction had happily guessed. Induction recognizes the ore of truth by its weight; Deduction confirms the recognition by chemical analysis. Every step of Induction must be confirmed by rigorous deductive reasoning, followed into such detail as the nature and complexity of the relations (whether of quantity or any other) render requisite. If not so justified by the supposed discoverer, it is not Induction.
It has been said that inductive and deductive reasoning are opposites in their approach; in Deduction, we infer specific conclusions from general truths, while in Induction, we infer general conclusions from specific examples. Deduction involves multiple steps, in which we apply known general principles to specific cases. In contrast, Induction involves a single step, where we move from many specific truths to one general principle. This is indeed true; however, despite being opposite in their processes, both are functions of the same mind navigating the same territory. Deduction is an essential part of Induction. Deduction validates by calculation what Induction has successfully guessed. Induction identifies the core of truth by its weight; Deduction verifies that identification through detailed analysis. Every step of Induction must be backed by thorough deductive reasoning, examined in as much detail as the nature and complexity of the relationships (whether quantitative or otherwise) require. If it is not validated by the so-called discoverer, it is not Induction.
19. Such Tabular arrangements of propositions as we have constructed may be considered as the Criterion of Truth for the doctrines which they include. They are the Criterion of Inductive Truth, in the same sense in which Syllogistic Demonstration is the Criterion of Necessary Truth,—of the certainty of conclusions, depending upon evident First Principles. And that such Tables are really a Criterion of the truth of the propositions which they contain, will be plain by examining their structure. For if the connexion which the inductive process assumes be ascertained to be in each case real and true, the assertion of the general proposition merely collects together ascertained truths; and in like manner each of those more particular propositions is true, because it merely expresses collectively more special facts: so that the most general theory is only the assertion of a great body of facts, duly classified and subordinated. When we 116 assert the truth of the Copernican theory of the motions of the solar system, or of the Newtonian theory of the forces by which they are caused, we merely assert the groups of propositions which, in the Table of Astronomical Induction, are included in these doctrines; and ultimately, we may consider ourselves as merely asserting at once so many Facts, and therefore, of course, expressing an indisputable truth.
19. The tabular arrangements of propositions we've created can be seen as the Criterion of Truth for the doctrines they contain. They serve as the Criterion of Inductive Truth in the same way that Syllogistic Demonstration serves as the Criterion of Necessary Truth—where the certainty of conclusions relies on clear First Principles. It's evident that these tables are indeed a Criterion of the truth of the propositions they hold, which can be understood by examining their structure. If the connections assumed by the inductive process are confirmed to be real and true in each case, then the statement of the general proposition simply brings together confirmed truths. Similarly, each of those more specific propositions is true because it collectively expresses more particular facts. This means that the most general theory is just a declaration of a large collection of facts, properly categorized and organized. When we assert the truth of the Copernican theory of the solar system's motions or the Newtonian theory of the forces behind them, we are essentially asserting the groups of propositions included in these doctrines as outlined in the Table of Astronomical Induction. Ultimately, we are stating multiple Facts simultaneously, and thus expressing an undeniable truth.
20. At any one of these steps of Induction in the Table, the inductive proposition is a Theory with regard to the Facts which it includes, while it is to be looked upon as a Fact with respect to the higher generalizations in which it is included. In any other sense, as was formerly shown, the opposition of Fact and Theory is untenable, and leads to endless perplexity and debate. Is it a Fact or a Theory that the planet Mars revolves in an Ellipse about the Sun? To Kepler, employed in endeavouring to combine the separate observations by the Conception of an Ellipse, it is a Theory; to Newton, engaged in inferring the law of force from a knowledge of the elliptical motion, it is a Fact. There are, as we have already seen, no special attributes of Theory and Fact which distinguish them from one another. Facts are phenomena apprehended by the aid of conceptions and mental acts, as Theories also are. We commonly call our observations Facts, when we apply, without effort or consciousness, conceptions perfectly familiar to us: while we speak of Theories, when we have previously contemplated the Facts and the connecting Conception separately, and have made the connexion by a conscious mental act. The real difference is a difference of relation; as the same proposition in a demonstration is the premiss of one syllogism and the conclusion in another;—as the same person is a father and a son. Propositions are Facts and Theories, according as they stand above or below the Inductive Brackets of our Tables.
20. At any of these steps of Induction in the Table, the inductive proposition is a Theory regarding the Facts it includes, while it is considered a Fact in relation to the higher generalizations it is part of. In any other sense, as previously shown, the distinction between Fact and Theory is unsustainable and leads to endless confusion and debate. Is it a Fact or a Theory that the planet Mars orbits the Sun in an Ellipse? To Kepler, who is trying to bring together separate observations with the idea of an Ellipse, it is a Theory; to Newton, who is inferring the law of force from understanding elliptical motion, it is a Fact. As we've already discussed, there are no specific attributes of Theory and Fact that set them apart. Facts are phenomena understood through conceptions and mental processes, just like Theories are. We usually call our observations Facts when we apply familiar conceptions effortlessly and unconsciously, while we refer to Theories when we've thought about the Facts and their connecting Conception separately and consciously made the connection. The real difference is a difference of relation; just as the same proposition in a demonstration can be the premiss of one syllogism and the conclusion in another, or as the same person can be both a father and a son. Propositions are Facts and Theories based on their position above or below the Inductive Brackets of our Tables.
21. To obviate mistakes I may remark that the terms higher and lower, when used of generalizations, are unavoidably represented by their opposites in our Inductive Tables. The highest generalization is that 117 which includes all others; and this stands the lowest on our page, because, reading downwards, that is the place which we last reach.
21. To avoid confusion, I should mention that the terms higher and lower, when applied to generalizations, are inevitably represented by their opposites in our Inductive Tables. The highest generalization is the one that includes all others; and this appears at the bottom of our page, because, as we read downwards, that’s the point we reach last.
There is a distinction of the knowledge acquired by Scientific Induction into two kinds, which is so important that we shall consider it in the succeeding chapter.
There is a distinction in the knowledge gained through Scientific Induction into two types, which is so important that we will discuss it in the next chapter.
CHAPTER VII.
Of the Laws of Phenomena and Causes.
Aphorism XXIV.
Aphorism 24.
Inductive truths are of two kinds, Laws of Phenomena, and Theories of Causes. It is necessary to begin in every science with the Laws of Phenomena; but it is impossible that we should be satisfied to stop short of a Theory of Causes. In Physical Astronomy, Physical Optics, Geology, and other sciences, we have instances showing that we can make a great advance in inquiries after true Theories of Causes.
Inductive truths come in two types: Laws of Phenomena, and Theories of Causes. Every science must start with the Laws of Phenomena; however, we can't be content to stop there without exploring a Theory of Causes. In fields like Physical Astronomy, Physical Optics, Geology, and others, we have examples that demonstrate how we can make significant progress in the search for true Theories of Causes.
1. IN the first attempts at acquiring an exact and connected knowledge of the appearances and operations which nature presents, men went no further than to learn what takes place, not why it occurs. They discovered an Order which the phenomena follow, Rules which they obey; but they did not come in sight of the Powers by which these rules are determined, the Causes of which this order is the effect. Thus, for example, they found that many of the celestial motions took place as if the sun and stars were carried round by the revolutions of certain celestial spheres; but what causes kept these spheres in constant motion, they were never able to explain. In like manner in modern times, Kepler discovered that the planets describe ellipses, before Newton explained why they select this particular curve, and describe it in a particular manner. The laws of reflection, refraction, dispersion, and other properties of light have long been known; the causes of these laws are at present under discussion. And the same might be 119 said of many other sciences. The discovery of the Laws of Phenomena is, in all cases, the first step in exact knowledge; these Laws may often for a long period constitute the whole of our science; and it is always a matter requiring great talents and great efforts, to advance to a knowledge of the Causes of the phenomena.
IN the early efforts to gain a precise and cohesive understanding of the appearances and processes that nature presents, people focused on discovering what happens, not why it happens. They identified an Order that the phenomena follow and the Rules they comply with; however, they never uncovered the Forces that determine these rules, nor the Causes that produce this order. For instance, they observed that many celestial movements appeared as if the sun and stars were being carried around by the rotations of specific celestial spheres, but they couldn't explain what kept these spheres moving constantly. Similarly, in modern times, Kepler found that planets move in ellipses before Newton clarified why they follow this particular path and do so in a specific way. The laws of reflection, refraction, dispersion, and other properties of light have been known for a long time, but the reasons behind these laws are still being explored. The same can be said for many other fields of science. The discovery of the Laws of Phenomena is always the first step toward gaining accurate knowledge; these Laws often serve as the entirety of our scientific understanding for an extended period, and it consistently takes considerable skill and effort to progress to an understanding of the Causes of the phenomena.
Hence the larger part of our knowledge of nature, at least of the certain portion of it, consists of the knowledge of the Laws of Phenomena. In Astronomy indeed, besides knowing the rules which guide the appearances, and resolving them into the real motions from which they arise, we can refer these motions to the forces which produce them. In Optics, we have become acquainted with a vast number of laws by which varied and beautiful phenomena are governed; and perhaps we may assume, since the evidence of the Undulatory Theory has been so fully developed, that we know also the Causes of the Phenomena. But in a large class of sciences, while we have learnt many Laws of Phenomena, the causes by which these are produced are still unknown or disputed. Are we to ascribe to the operation of a fluid or fluids, and if so, in what manner, the facts of heat, magnetism, electricity, galvanism? What are the forces by which the elements of chemical compounds are held together? What are the forces, of a higher order, as we cannot help believing, by which the course of vital action in organized bodies is kept up? In these and other cases, we have extensive departments of science; but we are as yet unable to trace the effects to their causes; and our science, so far as it is positive and certain, consists entirely of the laws of phenomena.
So, most of what we know about nature, at least the certain parts, comes from understanding the Laws of Phenomena. In Astronomy, we not only understand the rules that explain how things appear and break them down into the actual motions that create them, but we can also relate these motions to the forces that cause them. In Optics, we've learned a huge number of laws that govern various and beautiful phenomena; and since the evidence supporting the Undulatory Theory is well-established, we might even say we understand the Causes of these Phenomena. However, in many scientific areas, even though we've learned numerous Laws of Phenomena, the underlying causes remain unknown or debated. Should we attribute the effects of heat, magnetism, electricity, and galvanism to the action of a fluid or fluids, and if so, how exactly? What are the forces that hold the elements of chemical compounds together? What are the higher-order forces, which we can’t help but believe exist, that sustain the vital processes in living organisms? In these and other situations, we have broad fields of science; yet we still can’t connect the effects to their causes, and our science, to the extent that it is positive and certain, consists solely of the laws of phenomena.
2. In those cases in which we have a division of the science which teaches us the doctrine of the causes, as well as one which states the rules which the effects follow, I have, in the History, distinguished the two portions of the science by certain terms. I have thus spoken of Formal Astronomy and Physical Astronomy. The latter phrase has long been commonly employed to describe that department of Astronomy which deals with 120 those forces by which the heavenly bodies are guided in their motions; the former adjective appears well suited to describe a collection of rules depending on those ideas of space, time, position, number, which are, as we have already said, the forms of our apprehension of phenomena. The laws of phenomena may be considered as formulæ, expressing results in terms of those ideas. In like manner, I have spoken of Formal Optics and Physical Optics; the latter division including all speculations concerning the machinery by which the effects are produced. Formal Acoustics and Physical Acoustics may be distinguished in like manner, although these two portions of science have been a good deal mixed together by most of those who have treated of them. Formal Thermotics, the knowledge of the laws of the phenomena of heat, ought in like manner to lead to Physical Thermotics, or the Theory of Heat with reference to the cause by which its effects are produced;—a branch of science which as yet can hardly be said to exist.
2. In situations where we have a division of the science that teaches us about the reasons behind things, as well as one that outlines the rules for the resulting effects, I have, in the History, separated these two parts of the science using specific terms. I have referred to them as Formal Astronomy and Physical Astronomy. The term "Physical Astronomy" has been commonly used for a long time to describe that area of Astronomy which focuses on the forces that direct the movements of celestial bodies; the term "Formal" seems to fit well to describe a set of rules based on our concepts of space, time, position, and number, which are, as I've mentioned earlier, the forms of our understanding of phenomena. The laws of phenomena can be viewed as formulæ, which express outcomes in relation to those concepts. Similarly, I have referred to Formal Optics and Physical Optics; the latter includes all theories regarding the mechanisms that produce the effects. We can also distinguish between Formal Acoustics and Physical Acoustics, although these two areas of science have often been confused by most people who have discussed them. Formal Thermotics, which is the understanding of the laws governing thermal phenomena, should similarly lead to Physical Thermotics, or the Theory of Heat concerning the cause of its effects;—a field of science that still barely exists.
3. What kinds of cause are we to admit in science? This is an important, and by no means an easy question. In order to answer it, we must consider in what manner our progress in the knowledge of causes has hitherto been made. By far the most conspicuous instance of success in such researches, is the discovery of the causes of the motions of the heavenly bodies. In this case, after the formal laws of the motions,—their conditions as to space and time,—had become known, men were enabled to go a step further; to reduce them to the familiar and general cause of motion—mechanical force; and to determine the laws which this force follows. That this was a step in addition to the knowledge previously possessed, and that it was a real and peculiar truth, will not be contested. And a step in any other subject which should be analogous to this in astronomy;—a discovery of causes and forces as certain and clear as the discovery of universal gravitation;—would undoubtedly be a vast advance upon a body of science consisting only of the laws of phenomena. 121
3. What types of causes should we consider in science? This is an important question, and definitely not an easy one. To answer it, we need to look at how we have made progress in understanding causes so far. The most notable success in this area has been the discovery of the causes of the movements of celestial bodies. In this case, after the basic laws of motion—concerning space and time—were established, people were able to take it a step further; they could reduce these motions to the familiar and general cause of motion—mechanical force; and identify the laws that govern this force. The fact that this was an advancement beyond previous understanding, and that it represented a significant and unique truth, is undeniable. Similarly, a breakthrough in any other field that mirrors this in astronomy—a discovery of causes and forces that is as certain and clear as the discovery of universal gravitation—would undoubtedly be a major leap forward for a body of science that consisted only of the laws of phenomena. 121
4. But although physical astronomy may well be taken as a standard in estimating the value and magnitude of the advance from the knowledge of phenomena to the knowledge of causes; the peculiar features of the transition from formal to physical science in that subject must not be allowed to limit too narrowly our views of the nature of this transition in other cases. We are not, for example, to consider that the step which leads us to the knowledge of causes in any province of nature must necessarily consist in the discovery of centers of forces, and collections of such centers, by which the effects are produced. The discovery of the causes of phenomena may imply the detection of a fluid by whose undulations, or other operations, the results are occasioned. The phenomena of acoustics are, we know, produced in this manner by the air; and in the cases of light, heat, magnetism, and others, even if we reject all the theories of such fluids which have hitherto been proposed, we still cannot deny that such theories are intelligible and possible, as the discussions concerning them have shown. Nor can it be doubted that if the assumption of such a fluid, in any case, were as well evidenced as the doctrine of universal gravitation is, it must be considered as a highly valuable theory.
4. While physical astronomy can be seen as a benchmark for measuring the progress from understanding phenomena to grasping their causes, we shouldn't restrict our view of this transition in other fields too narrowly based on that subject's unique characteristics. We shouldn't assume, for instance, that the way we gain knowledge of causes in any area of nature necessarily involves discovering centers of forces and groups of those centers that produce effects. Identifying the causes of phenomena might also mean finding a fluid that creates results through its waves or other actions. We know that acoustic phenomena are produced this way by air; and in the cases of light, heat, magnetism, and others, even if we dismiss all the fluid theories proposed so far, we still can't deny that those theories are understandable and plausible, as the discussions around them have demonstrated. Additionally, it's clear that if the idea of such a fluid in any case were as well supported as the theory of universal gravitation, it would be regarded as a very valuable theory.
5. But again; not only must we, in aiming at the formation of a Causal Section in each Science of Phenomena, consider Fluids and their various modes of operation admissible, as well as centers of mechanical force; but we must be prepared, if it be necessary, to consider the forces, or powers to which we refer the phenomena, under still more general aspects, and invested with characters different from mere mechanical force. For example; the forces by which the chemical elements of bodies are bound together, and from which arise, both their sensible texture, their crystalline form, and their chemical composition, are certainly forces of a very different nature from the mere attraction of matter according to its mass. The powers of assimilation and reproduction in plants and animals are obviously still more removed from mere mechanism; yet 122 these powers are not on that account less real, nor a less fit and worthy subject of scientific inquiry.
5. But again, we must not only aim to create a Causal Section in each Science of Phenomena that considers Fluids and their various ways of functioning, along with centers of mechanical force; we also need to be ready, if necessary, to look at the forces or powers we associate with the phenomena in even broader terms and with characteristics that are different from just mechanical force. For instance, the forces that hold the chemical elements of substances together, which give rise to their physical texture, crystalline form, and chemical makeup, are undoubtedly forces of a very different kind from the simple attraction of matter based on its mass. The powers of assimilation and reproduction in plants and animals are clearly even further removed from mere mechanics; yet, 122 these powers are no less real, nor are they any less deserving and appropriate for scientific investigation.
6. In fact, these forces—mechanical, chemical and vital,—as we advance from one to the other, each bring into our consideration new characters; and what these characters are, has appeared in the historical survey which we made of the Fundamental Ideas of the various sciences. It was then shown that the forces by which chemical effects are produced necessarily involve the Idea of Polarity,—they are polar forces; the particles tend together in virtue of opposite properties which in the combination neutralize each other. Hence, in attempting to advance to a theory of Causes in chemistry, our task is by no means to invent laws of mechanical force, and collections of forces, by which the effects may be produced. We know beforehand that no such attempt can succeed. Our aim must be to conceive such new kinds of force, including Polarity among their characters, as may best render the results intelligible.
6. Actually, these forces—mechanical, chemical, and vital—each introduce new characteristics as we move from one to the next; and what these characteristics are has been outlined in the historical overview we did on the Fundamental Ideas of different sciences. It was shown that the forces causing chemical effects necessarily involve the Idea of Polarity—they are polar forces; the particles come together because of opposing properties that neutralize each other when combined. Therefore, in our effort to develop a theory of Causes in chemistry, our job is definitely not to create laws of mechanical force or collections of forces that could produce the effects. We already know that such an endeavor would not succeed. Our objective should be to envision new types of force, including Polarity among their characteristics, that can best explain the results.
7. Thus in advancing to a Science of Cause in any subject, the labour and the struggle is, not to analyse the phenomena according to any preconceived and already familiar ideas, but to form distinctly new conceptions, such as do really carry us to a more intimate view of the processes of nature. Thus in the case of astronomy, the obstacle which deferred the discovery of the true causes from the time of Kepler to that of Newton, was the difficulty of taking hold of mechanical conceptions and axioms with sufficient clearness and steadiness; which, during the whole of that interval, mathematicians were learning to do. In the question of causation which now lies most immediately in the path of science, that of the causes of electrical and chemical phenomena, the business of rightly fixing and limiting the conception of polarity, is the proper object of the efforts of discoverers. Accordingly a large portion of Mr Faraday’s recent labours23 is directed, not to 123 the attempt at discovering new laws of phenomena, but to the task of throwing light upon the conception of polarity, and of showing how it must be understood, so that it shall include electrical induction and other phenomena, which have commonly been ascribed to forces acting mechanically at a distance. He is by no means content, nor would it answer the ends of science that he should be, with stating the results of his experiments; he is constantly, in every page, pointing out the interpretation of his experiments, and showing how the conception of Polar Forces enters into this interpretation. ‘I shall,’ he says24, ‘use every opportunity which presents itself of returning to that strong test of truth, experiment; but,’ he adds, ‘I shall necessarily have occasion to speak theoretically, and even hypothetically.’ His hypothesis that electrical inductive action always takes place by means of a continuous line of polarized particles, and not by attraction and repulsion at a distance, if established, cannot fail to be a great step on our way towards a knowledge of causes, as well as phenomena, in the subjects under his consideration.
7. So, when advancing towards a Science of Cause in any subject, the challenge isn't to analyze the phenomena based on preconceived ideas, but to create entirely new concepts that genuinely lead us to a closer understanding of nature's processes. In astronomy, the reason it took so long to discover the actual causes from Kepler's time to Newton's was the difficulty of grasping mechanical concepts and axioms clearly and consistently; this was something mathematicians were figuring out throughout that period. As for the current issue facing science, which is understanding the causes of electrical and chemical phenomena, the focus should be on accurately defining and limiting the concept of polarity. A significant part of Mr. Faraday’s recent work23is aimed not at discovering new laws of phenomena, but at clarifying the concept of polarity and demonstrating how it must be understood to encompass electrical induction and other phenomena traditionally attributed to forces acting at a distance. He is not satisfied, nor would it benefit science for him to be, with merely stating the results of his experiments; he consistently emphasizes the interpretation of his findings and illustrates how the concept of Polar Forces plays a role in these interpretations. “I will,” he says24, “seize every opportunity to revert to that strong test of truth, experiment; but,” he continues, “I will inevitably need to discuss theoretical and even hypothetical ideas.” His hypothesis that electrical inductive action always occurs through a continuous line of polarized particles, rather than through attraction and repulsion at a distance, if proven, would represent a significant advancement in our understanding of both causes and phenomena in the areas he is exploring.
8. The process of obtaining new conceptions is, to most minds, far more unwelcome than any labour in employing old ideas. The effort is indeed painful and oppressive; it is feeling in the dark for an object which we cannot find. Hence it is not surprising that we should far more willingly proceed to seek for new causes by applying conceptions borrowed from old ones. Men were familiar with solid frames, and with whirlpools of fluid, when they had not learnt to form any clear conception of attraction at a distance. Hence they at first imagined the heavenly motions to be caused by Crystalline Spheres, and by Vortices. At length they were taught to conceive Central Forces, and then they reduced the solar system to these. But having done this, they fancied that all the rest of the machinery of nature must be central forces. We find Newton 124 expressing this conviction25, and the mathematicians of the last century acted upon it very extensively. We may especially remark Laplace’s labours in this field. Having explained, by such forces, the phenomena of capillary attraction, he attempted to apply the same kind of explanation to the reflection, refraction, and double refraction of light;—to the constitution of gases;—to the operation of heat. It was soon seen that the explanation of refraction was arbitrary, and that of double refraction illusory; while polarization entirely eluded the grasp of this machinery. Centers of force would no longer represent the modes of causation which belonged to the phenomena. Polarization required some other contrivance, such as the undulatory theory supplied. No theory of light can be of any avail in which the fundamental idea of Polarity is not clearly exhibited.
8. For most people, coming up with new ideas is a lot less appealing than using familiar concepts. The process can be painful and overwhelming; it feels like searching for something in the dark that we can't find. It makes sense, then, that we often prefer to look for new explanations based on old ideas. People understood solid structures and the motion of fluids long before they grasped the idea of attraction at a distance. Initially, they imagined that heavenly movements were caused by crystalline spheres and vortices. Eventually, they learned to think in terms of central forces, which led them to explain the solar system using these concepts. However, once they did this, they assumed that all other natural phenomena had to be explained by central forces as well. Newton 124 articulated this belief, and many mathematicians in the last century followed suit. Notably, Laplace worked extensively in this area. After explaining capillary attraction with these forces, he tried to use the same explanation for light's reflection, refraction, and double refraction, as well as the properties of gases and heat. It quickly became apparent that the explanation for refraction was arbitrary and that double refraction was misleading, while polarization completely evaded this framework. Central forces could no longer adequately represent the causative mechanisms behind these phenomena. Polarization needed a different approach, like the one provided by the wave theory. Any theory of light must clearly demonstrate the fundamental concept of polarity to be effective.
9. The sciences of magnetism and electricity have given rise to theories in which this relation of polarity is exhibited by means of two opposite fluids26;—a positive and a negative fluid, or a vitreous and a resinous, for electricity, and a boreal and an austral fluid for magnetism. The hypothesis of such fluids gives results agreeing in a remarkable manner with the facts and their measures, as Coulomb and others have shown. It may be asked how far we may, in such a case, suppose that we have discovered the true cause of the phenomena, and whether it is sufficiently proved that these fluids really exist. The right answer seems to be, that the hypothesis certainly represents the truth so far as regards the polar relation of the two energies, and the laws of the attractive and repulsive forces of the particles in which these energies reside; but that we are not entitled to assume that the vehicles of these energies possess other attributes of material fluids, or that the forces thus ascribed to the particles are the primary elementary forces from which 125 the action originates. We are the more bound to place this cautious limit to our acceptance of the Coulombian theory, since in electricity Faraday has in vain endeavoured to bring into view one of the polar fluids without the other: whereas such a result ought to be possible if there were two separable fluids. The impossibility of this separate exhibition of one fluid appears to show that the fluids are real only so far as they are polar. And Faraday’s view above mentioned, according to which the attractions at a distance are resolved into the action of lines of polarized particles of air, appears still further to show that the conceptions hitherto entertained of electrical forces, according to the Coulombian theory, do not penetrate to the real and intimate nature of the causation belonging to this case.
9. The sciences of magnetism and electricity have led to theories where this relationship of polarity is shown through two opposite fluids—one positive and one negative, or vitreous and resinous for electricity, and boreal and austral for magnetism. The idea of these fluids aligns surprisingly well with the facts and their measurements, as demonstrated by Coulomb and others. One might wonder how far we can assume we've found the real cause of these phenomena and whether there's enough evidence that these fluids actually exist. The appropriate response seems to be that the hypothesis does represent the truth regarding the polar relationship of the two energies, as well as the laws governing the attractive and repulsive forces of the particles containing these energies. However, we shouldn't assume that the carriers of these energies have the same properties as material fluids, or that the forces attributed to the particles are the fundamental forces from which the actions originate. We must be cautious in accepting the Coulombian theory because, in electricity, Faraday has unsuccessfully tried to reveal one of the polar fluids without the other. Such a result should be achievable if there were two separate fluids. The impossibility of displaying one fluid separately suggests that the fluids are only real to the extent that they are polar. Furthermore, Faraday's perspective, which posits that the attractions at a distance break down into the action of lines of polarized particles in the air, indicates that the current understandings of electrical forces, according to the Coulombian theory, do not truly address the real and fundamental nature of the causation involved in this scenario.
10. Since it is thus difficult to know when we have seized the true cause of the phenomena in any department of science, it may appear to some persons that physical inquirers are imprudent and unphilosophical in undertaking this Research of Causes; and that it would be safer and wiser to confine ourselves to the investigation of the laws of phenomena, in which field the knowledge which we obtain is definite and certain. Hence there have not been wanting those who have laid it down as a maxim that ‘science must study only the laws of phenomena, and never the mode of production27.’ But it is easy to see that such a maxim would confine the breadth and depth of scientific inquiries to a most scanty and miserable limit. Indeed, such a rule would defeat its own object; for the laws of phenomena, in many cases, cannot be even expressed or understood without some hypothesis respecting their mode of production. How could the phenomena of polarization have been conceived or reasoned upon, except by imagining a polar arrangement of particles, or transverse vibrations, or some equivalent hypothesis? The doctrines of fits of easy transmission, the doctrine of moveable polarization, and the like, even when 126 erroneous as representing the whole of the phenomena, were still useful in combining some of them into laws; and without some such hypotheses the facts could not have been followed out. The doctrine of a fluid caloric may be false; but without imagining such a fluid, how could the movement of heat from one part of a body to another be conceived? It may be replied that Fourier, Laplace, Poisson, who have principally cultivated the Theory of Heat, have not conceived it as a fluid, but have referred conduction to the radiation of the molecules of bodies, which they suppose to be separate points. But this molecular constitution of bodies is itself an assumption of the mode in which the phenomena are produced; and the radiation of heat suggests inquiries concerning a fluid emanation, no less than its conduction does. In like manner, the attempts to connect the laws of phenomena of heat and of gases, have led to hypotheses respecting the constitution of gases, and the combination of their particles with those of caloric, which hypotheses may be false, but are probably the best means of discovering the truth.
10. Since it's hard to know when we've identified the true cause of the phenomena in any field of science, some people might think that physical researchers are reckless and unphilosophical for pursuing this Research of Causes. They might argue it's safer and smarter to focus only on studying the laws of phenomena, where the knowledge we gain is clear and reliable. Because of this, there are those who have said that "science should only study the laws of phenomena, and never the way they are produced." However, it's clear that such a principle would limit the scope of scientific inquiries to a very narrow and inadequate range. In fact, this rule would undermine its own purpose; for the laws of phenomena, in many cases, can’t be expressed or understood without some hypothesis about how they are produced. How could we even conceive or reason about the phenomena of polarization without imagining some polar arrangement of particles, or transverse vibrations, or a similar hypothesis? The concepts of easy transmission and movable polarization, even if they are incorrect in representing the entirety of the phenomena, were still useful in linking some of them into defined laws; without hypotheses like these, we couldn’t have explored the facts. The idea of a fluid caloric may be wrong, but without imagining such a fluid, how could we even think about the movement of heat from one part of a body to another? One might argue that Fourier, Laplace, and Poisson, who have primarily focused on the Theory of Heat, did not view it as a fluid but instead associated conduction with the radiation of the molecules of bodies, which they assume are separate points. However, this molecular structure of bodies itself is an assumption about how the phenomena are produced; and the radiation of heat raises questions about a fluid emanation just as much as its conduction does. Similarly, efforts to link the laws of heat phenomena and gases have led to hypotheses about the composition of gases and how their particles interact with caloric, which could be incorrect, but are likely the best way to uncover the truth.
To debar science from inquiries like these, on the ground that it is her business to inquire into facts, and not to speculate about causes, is a curious example of that barren caution which hopes for truth without daring to venture upon the quest of it. This temper would have stopped with Kepler’s discoveries, and would have refused to go on with Newton to inquire into the mode in which the phenomena are produced. It would have stopped with Newton’s optical facts, and would have refused to go on with him and his successors to inquire into the mode in which these phenomena are produced. And, as we have abundantly shown, it would, on that very account, have failed in seeing what the phenomena really are.
To keep science from exploring questions like these, claiming it should only look at facts and not speculate about causes, is a strange example of having a cautious attitude that aims for truth without daring to seek it. This mindset would have ended with Kepler’s discoveries and would have refused to continue with Newton in exploring how these phenomena occur. It would have stopped with Newton’s optical facts and would have refused to follow him and his successors in investigating how these phenomena are produced. And, as we have clearly shown, this attitude would, for that very reason, have failed to understand what the phenomena really are.
In many subjects the attempt to study the laws of phenomena, independently of any speculations respecting the causes which have produced them, is neither possible for human intelligence nor for human temper. Men cannot contemplate the phenomena without clothing them in terms of some hypothesis, and will 127 not be schooled to suppress the questionings which at every moment rise up within them concerning the causes of the phenomena. Who can attend to the appearances which come under the notice of the geologist;—strata regularly bedded, full of the remains of animals such as now live in the depths of the ocean, raised to the tops of mountains, broken, contorted, mixed with rocks such as still flow from the mouths of volcanos,—who can see phenomena like these, and imagine that he best promotes the progress of our knowledge of the earth’s history, by noting down the facts, and abstaining from all inquiry whether these are really proof of past states of the earth and of subterraneous forces, or merely an accidental imitation of the effects of such causes? In this and similar cases, to proscribe the inquiry into causes would be to annihilate the science.
In many subjects, trying to study the laws of phenomena without speculating about the causes that created them is neither feasible for human understanding nor for human nature. People can’t reflect on phenomena without framing them in terms of some hypothesis, and they won’t be trained to suppress the questions that constantly arise within them about the causes of those phenomena. Who can focus on the appearances that a geologist examines—layers of rock regularly arranged, filled with remains of animals that currently live in the ocean depths, elevated to the tops of mountains, broken, twisted, mixed with rocks that still flow from volcanoes? Who can observe phenomena like these and think that the best way to enhance our understanding of the earth’s history is to simply record the facts and refrain from questioning whether these really indicate past states of the earth and subterranean forces, or if they are just random imitations of such causes? In this and similar instances, banning the inquiry into causes would be to destroy the science.
Finally, this caution does not even gain its own single end, the escape from hypotheses. For, as we have said, those who will not seek for new and appropriate causes of newly-studied phenomena, are almost inevitably led to ascribe the facts to modifications of causes already familiar. They may declare that they will not hear of such causes as vital powers, elective affinities, electric, or calorific, or luminiferous ethers or fluids; but they will not the less on that account assume hypotheses equally unauthorized;—for instance—universal mechanical forces; a molecular constitution of bodies; solid, hard, inert matter;—and will apply these hypotheses in a manner which is arbitrary in itself as well as quite insufficient for its purpose.
Finally, this caution doesn’t really lead to a clear conclusion, which is avoiding assumptions. As we’ve mentioned, those who refuse to look for new and fitting explanations for newly observed phenomena are almost guaranteed to attribute the facts to changes in causes they already know. They might insist that they won’t consider causes like vital forces, elective affinities, or the presence of electric, thermal, or light-carrying substances; however, this doesn’t stop them from assuming equally unsupported hypotheses—such as universal mechanical forces, a molecular structure of matter, or solid, inert matter—and using these assumptions in ways that are arbitrary and completely inadequate for the task at hand.
11. It appears, then, to be required, both by the analogy of the most successful efforts of science in past times and by the irrepressible speculative powers of the human mind, that we should attempt to discover both the laws of phenomena, and their causes. In every department of science, when prosecuted far enough, these two great steps of investigation must succeed each other. The laws of phenomena must be known before we can speculate concerning causes; the causes must be inquired into when the phenomena have been 128 reduced to rule. In both these speculations the suppositions and conceptions which occur must be constantly tested by reference to observation and experiment. In both we must, as far as possible, devise hypotheses which, when we thus test them, display those characters of truth of which we have already spoken;—an agreement with facts such as will stand the most patient and rigid inquiry; a provision for predicting truly the results of untried cases; a consilience of inductions from various classes of facts; and a progressive tendency of the scheme to simplicity and unity.
11. It seems necessary, both based on the past achievements of science and the unstoppable curiosity of the human mind, that we should try to uncover both the laws of phenomena and their causes. In every field of science, when pushed far enough, these two important steps of investigation will follow one another. We need to understand the laws of phenomena before we can speculate about their causes; we must explore the causes once we have established rules for the phenomena. In both of these inquiries, the assumptions and ideas we come up with must be constantly checked against observation and experimentation. We should, as much as possible, create hypotheses that, when tested, show the characteristics of truth that we’ve already discussed—an alignment with facts that can endure the toughest scrutiny; the ability to accurately predict the outcomes of untested situations; a consistency of conclusions drawn from different categories of facts; and a tendency of the theory toward simplicity and unity.
We shall attempt hereafter to give several rules of a more precise and detailed kind for the discovery of the causes, and still more, of the laws of phenomena. But it will be useful in the first place to point out the Classification of the Sciences which results from the principles already established in this work. And for this purpose we must previously decide the question, whether the practical Arts, as Medicine and Engineering, must be included in our list of Sciences.
We will now try to outline several specific and detailed rules for discovering the causes and, more importantly, the laws of phenomena. But first, it’s helpful to highlight the Classification of the Sciences that comes from the principles we've already established in this work. To do this, we need to first address whether practical Arts, like Medicine and Engineering, should be included in our list of Sciences.
CHAPTER VIII.
Art and Science.
Aphorism XXV.
Aphorism XXV.
Art and Science differ. The object of Science is Knowledge; the objects of Art, are Works. In Art, truth is a means to an end; in Science, it is the only end. Hence the Practical Arts are not to be classed among the Sciences.
Art and Science are different. The goal of Science is Knowledge; the goal of Art is to create Works. In Art, truth is a tool to achieve something; in Science, it is the ultimate goal. Therefore, the Practical Arts shouldn't be considered part of the Sciences.
Aphorism XXVI.
Aphorism 26.
Practical Knowledge, such as Art implies, is not Knowledge such as Science includes. Brute animals have a practical knowledge of relations of space and force; but they have no knowledge of Geometry or Mechanics.
Practical knowledge, like what art involves, is different from the knowledge that science encompasses. Animals have a practical understanding of space and force, but they don't understand geometry or mechanics.
1. THE distinction of Arts and Sciences very materially affects all classifications of the departments of Human Knowledge. It is often maintained, expressly or tacitly, that the Arts are a part of our knowledge, in the same sense in which the Sciences are so; and that Art is the application of Science to the purposes of practical life. It will be found that these views require some correction, when we understand Science in the exact sense in which we have throughout endeavoured to contemplate it, and in which alone our examination of its nature can instruct us in the true foundations of our knowledge.
1. THE difference between Arts and Sciences significantly influences how we categorize the areas of Human Knowledge. It's often argued, either directly or indirectly, that the Arts are part of our knowledge just like the Sciences are; and that Art is how we apply Science to the practical aspects of life. However, these perspectives need some adjustment once we understand Science in the precise way we have aimed to explore it, and only in this context can our examination of its nature teach us about the true foundations of our knowledge.
When we cast our eyes upon the early stages of the histories of nations, we cannot fail to be struck with the consideration, that in many countries the Arts of life already appear, at least in some rude form or other, when, as yet, nothing of science exists. A 130 practical knowledge of Astronomy, such as enables them to reckon months and years, is found among all nations except the mere savages. A practical knowledge of Mechanics must have existed in those nations which have left us the gigantic monuments of early architecture. The pyramids and temples of Egypt and Nubia, the Cyclopean walls of Italy and Greece, the temples of Magna Græcia and Sicily, the obelisks and edifices of India, the cromlechs and Druidical circles of countries formerly Celtic,—must have demanded no small practical mechanical skill and power. Yet those modes of reckoning time must have preceded the rise of speculative Astronomy; these structures must have been erected before the theory of Mechanics was known. To suppose, as some have done, a great body of science, now lost, to have existed in the remote ages to which these remains belong, is not only quite gratuitous, and contrary to all analogy, but is a supposition which cannot be extended so far as to explain all such cases. For it is impossible to imagine that every art has been preceded by the science which renders a reason for its processes. Certainly men formed wine from the grape, before they possessed a Science of Fermentation; the first instructor of every artificer in brass and iron can hardly be supposed to have taught the Chemistry of metals as a Science; the inventor of the square and the compasses had probably no more knowledge of demonstrated Geometry than have the artisans who now use those implements; and finally, the use of speech, the employment of the inflections and combinations of words, must needs be assumed as having been prior to any general view of the nature and analogy of Language. Even at this moment, the greater part of the arts which exist in the world are not accompanied by the sciences on which they theoretically depend. Who shall state to us the general chemical truths to which the manufactures of glass, and porcelain, and iron, and brass, owe their existence? Do not almost all artisans practise many successful artifices long before science explains the ground of the process? Do not arts at this day exist, in a high state 131 of perfection, in countries in which there is no science, as China and India? These countries and many others have no theories of mechanics, of optics, of chemistry, of physiology; yet they construct and use mechanical and optical instruments, make chemical combinations, take advantage of physiological laws. It is too evident to need further illustration that Art may exist without Science;—that the former has usually been anterior to the latter, and even now commonly advances independently, leaving science to follow as it can.
When we look at the early stages of national histories, we can't help but notice that in many countries, the skills of daily life already exist, at least in some basic form, even when science is nonexistent. A practical understanding of astronomy, allowing them to track months and years, is found among all nations except for the most primitive. A practical grasp of mechanics must have been present in the nations that left us the impressive monuments of early architecture. The pyramids and temples of Egypt and Nubia, the Cyclopean walls of Italy and Greece, the temples of Magna Græcia and Sicily, the obelisks and structures of India, and the cromlechs and Druidical circles in the former Celtic lands—these certainly required significant practical mechanical skill and labor. Yet, those ways of measuring time must have come before the emergence of theoretical astronomy; these buildings must have been built before the principles of mechanics were understood. To suggest, as some do, that a vast amount of science, now lost, existed in the distant past of these remains is not only unsubstantiated and contrary to all logic, but it also fails to explain all such examples. It’s hard to believe that every art has been preceded by the science that explains how it works. Clearly, people made wine from grapes long before they had a science of fermentation; the first teacher of every metalworker likely didn't teach metallurgy as a science; the inventor of the square and compass probably knew no more about proven geometry than today’s craftsmen who use those tools; and lastly, the use of language and the arrangement of words surely existed before any comprehensive understanding of the nature and relationships of language. Even now, most arts in the world don't come with the sciences they theoretically rely on. Who can tell us the basic chemical principles behind the production of glass, porcelain, iron, and brass? Don’t most craftsmen employ many successful techniques long before science clarifies why those processes work? Even now, arts flourish in countries where science is absent, like China and India. These countries and many others have no theories on mechanics, optics, chemistry, or physiology; yet they build and use mechanical and optical instruments, create chemical mixtures, and apply physiological principles. It's clear and needs no further proof that art can exist without science—that the former usually comes before the latter and even today often progresses independently, with science lagging behind as best it can.
2. We here mean by Science, that exact, general, speculative knowledge, of which we have, throughout this work, been endeavouring to exhibit the nature and rules. Between such Science and the practical Arts of life, the points of difference are sufficiently manifest. The object of Science is Knowledge; the object of Art are Works. The latter is satisfied with producing its material results; to the former, the operations of matter, whether natural or artificial, are interesting only so far as they can be embraced by intelligible principles. The End of Art is the Beginning of Science; for when it is seen what is done, then comes the question why it is done. Art may have fixed general rules, stated in words; but she has these merely as means to an end: to Science, the propositions which she obtains are each, in itself, a sufficient end of the effort by which it is acquired. When Art has brought forth her product, her task is finished; Science is constantly led by one step of her path to another: each proposition which she obtains impels her to go onwards to other propositions more general, more profound, more simple. Art puts elements together, without caring to know what they are, or why they coalesce. Science analyses the compound, and at every such step strives not only to perform, but to understand the analysis. Art advances in proportion as she becomes able to bring forth products more multiplied, more complex, more various; but Science, straining her eyes to penetrate more and more deeply into the nature of things, reckons her success in proportion as she sees, in all the phenomena, however 132 multiplied; complex, and varied, the results of one or two simple and general laws.
2. By Science, we mean the exact, general, speculative knowledge that we’ve been trying to explain in this work. The differences between Science and the practical Arts of life are quite clear. The goal of Science is Knowledge; the goal of Art is Works. Art is concerned with producing tangible results, while Science finds matter's operations, whether natural or artificial, interesting only to the extent that they can be understood through clear principles. The end of Art marks the beginning of Science; when we see what is done, we then ask why it is done. Art may have established general rules expressed in words, but it uses these only as tools to achieve a goal: for Science, the propositions it formulates are sufficient ends in themselves, derived from the effort taken to acquire them. Once Art has produced its outcome, its job is done; Science continually progresses from one step to the next: each proposition it formulates drives it to seek out other, more general, profound, and simpler propositions. Art combines elements without worrying about what they are or why they come together. Science breaks down the compound and, at every step, aims not just to implement but to understand the analysis. Art progresses as it creates more varied, complex, and diverse products; however, Science, striving to delve deeper into the essence of things, measures its success by how well it identifies, within all the phenomena, no matter how 132 multiplied, complex, and varied, the outcomes of one or two simple and general laws.
3. There are many acts which man, as well as animals, performs by the guidance of nature, without seeing or seeking the reason why he does so; as, the acts by which he balances himself in standing or moving, and those by which he judges of the form and position of the objects around him. These actions have their reason in the principles of geometry and mechanics; but of such reasons he who thus acts is unaware: he works blindly, under the impulse of an unknown principle which we call Instinct. When man’s speculative nature seeks and finds the reasons why he should act thus or thus;—why he should stretch out his arm to prevent his falling, or assign a certain position to an object in consequence of the angles under which it is seen;—he may perform the same actions as before, but they are then done by the aid of a different faculty, which, for the sake of distinction, we may call Insight. Instinct is a purely active principle; it is seen in deeds alone; it has no power of looking inwards; it asks no questions; it has no tendency to discover reasons or rules; it is the opposite of Insight.
3. There are many actions that both humans and animals perform instinctively, without understanding why they do them; for example, how they balance themselves while standing or moving, and how they perceive the shape and position of objects around them. These actions are rooted in the principles of geometry and mechanics, but the individual performing them is unaware of these reasons: they act blindly, driven by an unknown principle we refer to as Instinct. When a person’s analytical nature seeks and discovers the reasons behind their actions—why they reach out to prevent falling, or why they place an object in a certain position based on the angles at which it is viewed—they may perform the same actions as before, but now they do so with the aid of a different faculty, which we can call Insight for clarity. Instinct is a purely active principle; it is evident only in actions; it lacks the ability to reflect inwardly; it doesn’t ask questions; it doesn’t seek to uncover reasons or rules; it is the opposite of Insight.
4. Art is not identical with Instinct: on the contrary, there are broad differences. Instinct is stationary; Art is progressive. Instinct is mute; it acts, but gives no rules for acting: Art can speak; she can lay down rules. But though Art is thus separate from Instinct, she is not essentially combined with Insight. She can see what to do, but she needs not to see why it is done. She may lay down Rules, but it is not her business to give Reasons. When man makes that his employment, he enters upon the domain of Science. Art takes the phenomena and laws of nature as she finds them: that they are multiplied, complex, capricious, incoherent, disturbs her not. She is content that the rules of nature’s operations should be perfectly arbitrary and unintelligible, provided they are constant, so that she can depend upon their effects. But Science is impatient of all appearance of caprice, 133 inconsistency, irregularity, in nature. She will not believe in the existence of such characters. She resolves one apparent anomaly after another; her task is not ended till every thing is so plain and simple, that she is tempted to believe that she sees that it could by no possibility have been otherwise than it is.
4. Art is not the same as Instinct; in fact, there are significant differences. Instinct is fixed; Art is evolving. Instinct is silent; it acts but doesn't provide any guidelines for action: Art can communicate; it can establish rules. However, while Art is distinct from Instinct, it is not fundamentally linked with Insight. It can determine what to do, but it doesn’t need to understand why it’s done. It may set rules, but it isn’t responsible for providing reasons. When humans make that their job, they enter the realm of Science. Art takes the phenomena and laws of nature as they exist: that they are numerous, complex, unpredictable, or nonsensical doesn’t bother it. It is content with the fact that the rules governing nature's actions can be completely arbitrary and incomprehensible, as long as they remain consistent enough to rely on their outcomes. But Science cannot tolerate any hint of randomness, inconsistency, or irregularity in nature. It refuses to accept such traits. It resolves anomaly after anomaly; its work isn’t done until everything is so clear and straightforward that it is tempted to believe it could not possibly be any different than it is.
5. It may be said that, after all, Art does really involve the knowledge which Science delivers;—that the artisan who raises large weights, practically knows the properties of the mechanical powers;—that he who manufactures chemical compounds is virtually acquainted with the laws of chemical combination. To this we reply, that it might on the same grounds be asserted, that he who acts upon the principle that two sides of a triangle are greater than the third is really acquainted with geometry; and that he who balances himself on one foot knows the properties of the center of gravity. But this is an acquaintance with geometry and mechanics which even brute animals possess. It is evident that it is not of such knowledge as this that we have here to treat. It is plain that this mode of possessing principles is altogether different from that contemplation of them on which science is founded. We neglect the most essential and manifest differences, if we confound our unconscious assumptions with our demonstrative reasonings.
5. It can be said that, ultimately, Art does indeed involve the knowledge that Science provides; that the worker who lifts heavy objects practically knows the properties of mechanical forces; that someone who creates chemical compounds is essentially familiar with the laws of chemical interaction. In response, we could argue that someone who understands that the sum of the two sides of a triangle is greater than the third is actually knowledgeable about geometry; and that a person who balances on one foot knows about the center of gravity. But this kind of familiarity with geometry and mechanics is something even animals have. Clearly, this isn't the kind of knowledge we're discussing here. It's obvious that this way of understanding principles is completely different from the reflective examination that forms the basis of science. We overlook the most important and obvious distinctions if we equate our instinctive assumptions with our logical deductions.
6. The real state of the case is, that the principles which Art involves, Science alone evolves. The truths on which the success of Art depends, lurk in the artist’s mind in an undeveloped state; guiding his hand, stimulating his invention, balancing his judgment; but not appearing in the form of enunciated Propositions. Principles are not to him direct objects of meditation: they are secret Powers of Nature, to which the forms which tenant the world owe their constancy, their movements, their changes, their luxuriant and varied growth, but which he can nowhere directly contemplate. That the creative and directive Principles which have their lodgment in the artist’s mind, when unfolded by our speculative powers into 134 systematic shape, become Science, is true; but it is precisely this process of development which gives to them their character of Science. In practical Art, principles are unseen guides, leading us by invisible strings through paths where the end alone is looked at: it is for Science to direct and purge our vision so that these airy ties, these principles and laws, generalizations and theories, become distinct objects of vision. Many may feel the intellectual monitor, but it is only to her favourite heroes that the Goddess of Wisdom visibly reveals herself.
6. The truth is that the principles involved in Art are solely developed by Science. The truths that determine the success of Art are hidden in the artist’s mind in an undeveloped state; they guide his hand, spark his creativity, and balance his judgment, but they don’t appear as clear statements. Principles aren’t something he directly contemplates; they are secret forces of Nature that give the forms in the world their consistency, movements, changes, and rich variety, yet he cannot directly observe them. It’s true that when the creative and guiding principles in the artist’s mind are unfolded by our analytical abilities into a systematic form, they become Science; however, it is exactly this process of development that characterizes them as Science. In practical Art, principles act as unseen guides, leading us along invisible strings through paths where we only focus on the end result. It’s Science’s role to clarify and refine our understanding so that these intangible connections, these principles and laws, generalizations and theories, become clear objects of knowledge. Many may sense the intellectual guide, but only the artist’s favorite heroes are visibly revealed by the Goddess of Wisdom.
7. Thus Art, in its earlier stages at least, is widely different from Science, is independent of it, and is anterior to it. At a later period, no doubt, Art may borrow aid from Science; and the discoveries of the philosopher may be of great value to the manufacturer and the artist. But even then, this application forms no essential part of the science: the interest which belongs to it is not an intellectual interest. The augmentation of human power and convenience may impel or reward the physical philosopher; but the processes by which man’s repasts are rendered more delicious, his journeys more rapid, his weapons more terrible, are not, therefore, Science. They may involve principles which are of the highest interest to science; but as the advantage is not practically more precious because it results from a beautiful theory, so the theoretical principle has no more conspicuous place in science because it leads to convenient practical consequences. The nature of Science is purely intellectual; Knowledge alone,—exact general Truth,—is her object; and we cannot mix with such material, as matters of the same kind, the merely Empirical maxims of Art, without introducing endless confusion into the subject, and making it impossible to attain any solid footing in our philosophy.
7. So, Art, at least in its early stages, is very different from Science, stands on its own, and comes before it. Later on, Art might draw support from Science, and what philosophers discover can be very useful to manufacturers and artists. However, even then, this application isn't a core part of science; its significance isn't intellectual. The enhancement of human power and convenience might drive or reward the physical philosopher, but the ways in which food becomes more enjoyable, travel becomes faster, and weapons become more formidable aren't categorized as Science. They might include principles that are very interesting to science, but just because an advantage comes from a beautiful theory doesn't make it inherently more valuable. Similarly, a theoretical principle doesn't gain a more prominent role in science just because it results in convenient practical applications. The essence of Science is purely intellectual; its goal is Knowledge—precise general Truth—and we can't mix this material with merely empirical rules of Art without causing endless confusion and making it impossible to establish a solid foundation in our philosophy.
8. I shall therefore not place, in our Classification of the Sciences, the Arts, as has generally been done; nor shall I notice the applications of sciences to art, as forming any separate portion of each science. The sciences, considered as bodies of general speculative 135 truths, are what we are here concerned with; and applications of such truths, whether useful or useless, are important to us only as illustrations and examples. Whatever place in human knowledge the Practical Arts may hold, they are not Sciences. And it is only by this rigorous separation of the Practical from the Theoretical, that we can arrive at any solid conclusions respecting the nature of Truth, and the mode of arriving at it, such as it is our object to attain.
8. So, I won’t include the Arts in our Classification of the Sciences, as is usually done; nor will I discuss the application of sciences to art as a separate part of each science. We are focused on the sciences as collections of general speculative truths, and the applications of these truths, whether useful or not, are only relevant to us as examples and illustrations. Regardless of their significance in human knowledge, the Practical Arts are not Sciences. It’s only by strictly separating the Practical from the Theoretical that we can reach any solid conclusions about the nature of Truth and how to attain it, which is our goal.
CHAPTER IX.
On the Classification of Sciences.
1. THE Classification of Sciences has its chief use in pointing out to us the extent of our powers of arriving at truth, and the analogies which may obtain between those certain and lucid portions of knowledge with which we are here concerned, and those other portions, of a very different interest and evidence, which we here purposely abstain to touch upon. The classification of human knowledge will, therefore, have a more peculiar importance when we can include in it the moral, political, and metaphysical, as well as the physical portions of our knowledge. But such a survey does not belong to our present undertaking: and a general view of the connexion and order of the branches of sciences which our review has hitherto included, will even now possess some interest; and may serve hereafter as an introduction to a more complete scheme of the general body of human knowledge.
THE Classification of Sciences helps us understand the range of our ability to discover truth and the similarities that may exist between the clear and certain areas of knowledge we're focusing on and the other areas, which are quite different in interest and clarity, that we’re intentionally avoiding. The classification of human knowledge becomes particularly important when we can include the moral, political, and metaphysical aspects alongside the physical aspects of what we know. However, this overview isn't part of our current goal. A general look at the connections and order of the branches of science that we've reviewed so far is still worthwhile and could serve as a stepping stone to a more comprehensive understanding of human knowledge in the future.
2. In this, as in any other case, a sound classification must be the result, not of any assumed principles imperatively applied to the subject, but of an examination of the objects to be classified;—of an analysis of them into the principles in which they agree and differ. The Classification of Sciences must result from the consideration of their nature and contents. Accordingly, that review of the Sciences in which the History of the Sciences engaged us, led to a Classification, of which the main features are indicated in that work. The Classification thus obtained, depends neither upon the faculties of the mind to which the separate parts of our knowledge owe their origin, nor upon the objects which each science contemplates; but upon a more 137 natural and fundamental element;—namely, the Ideas which each science involves. The Ideas regulate and connect the facts, and are the foundations of the reasoning, in each science: and having in another work more fully examined these Ideas, we are now prepared to state here the classification to which they lead. If we have rightly traced each science to the Conceptions which are really fundamental with regard to it, and which give rise to the first principles on which it depends, it is not necessary for our purpose that we should decide whether these Conceptions are absolutely ultimate principles of thought, or whether, on the contrary, they can be further resolved into other Fundamental Ideas. We need not now suppose it determined whether or not Number is a mere modification of the Idea of Time, and Force a mere modification of the Idea of Cause: for however this may be, our Conception of Number is the foundation of Arithmetic, and our Conception of Force is the foundation of Mechanics. It is to be observed also that in our classification, each Science may involve, not only the Ideas or Conceptions which are placed opposite to it in the list, but also all which precede it. Thus Formal Astronomy involves not only the Conception of Motion, but also those which are the foundation of Arithmetic and Geometry. In like manner. Physical Astronomy employs the Sciences of Statics and Dynamics, and thus, rests on their foundations; and they, in turn, depend upon the Ideas of Space and of Time, as well as of Cause.
2. In this case, just like any other, a proper classification should come from actually examining the objects to be classified, not from applying any assumed principles forcefully. It involves analyzing the objects to see how they are similar and different. The Classification of Sciences should be based on their nature and content. So, the review of the Sciences that we engaged in through the History of the Sciences led us to a Classification, the key features of which are outlined in that work. The classification we arrived at doesn’t depend on the mental faculties that gave rise to the different areas of knowledge or on the objects each science studies; rather, it comes from a more natural and fundamental element: the Ideas that each science includes. These Ideas organize and connect the facts and form the basis of reasoning in each science. Having explored these Ideas in another work, we are now ready to present the classification they lead to. If we have correctly traced each science back to its truly fundamental Conceptions that give rise to the basic principles it relies on, we don’t need to determine whether these Conceptions are ultimate principles of thought or if they can be broken down into other Fundamental Ideas. We don’t need to resolve whether Number is just a variation of the Idea of Time, or if Force is just a variation of the Idea of Cause; because regardless, our understanding of Number is the basis of Arithmetic, and our understanding of Force is the basis of Mechanics. It should also be noted that in our classification, each Science might involve not only the Ideas or Conceptions directly linked to it but also all those that precede it. For example, Formal Astronomy includes not just the Conception of Motion but also the foundations of Arithmetic and Geometry. Similarly, Physical Astronomy relies on the sciences of Statics and Dynamics, which are built on their foundations; and those depend on the Ideas of Space and Time, as well as Cause.
3. We may further observe, that this arrangement of Sciences according to the Fundamental Ideas which they involve, points out the transition from those parts of human knowledge which have been included in our History and Philosophy, to other regions of speculation into which we have not entered. We have repeatedly found ourselves upon the borders of inquiries of a psychological, or moral, or theological nature. Thus the History of Physiology28 led us to the consideration 138 of Life, Sensation, and Volition; and at these Ideas we stopped, that we might not transgress the boundaries of our subject as then predetermined. It is plain that the pursuit of such conceptions and their consequences, would lead us to the sciences (if we are allowed to call them sciences) which contemplate not only animal, but human principles of action, to Anthropology, and Psychology. In other ways, too, the Ideas which we hare examined, although manifestly the foundations of sciences such as we have here treated of also plainly pointed to speculations of a different order; thus the Idea of a Final Cause is an indispensable guide in Biology, as we have seen; but the conception of Design as directing the order of nature, once admitted, soon carries us to higher contemplations. Again, the Class of Palætiological Sciences which we were in the History led to construct, although we there admitted only one example of the Class, namely Geology, does in reality include many vast lines of research; as the history and causes of the division of plants and animals, the history of languages, arts, and consequently of civilization. Along with these researches, comes the question how far these histories point backwards to a natural or a supernatural origin; and the Idea of a First Cause is thus brought under our consideration. Finally, it is not difficult to see that as the Physical Sciences have their peculiar governing Ideas, which support and shape them, so the Moral and Political Sciences also must similarly have their fundamental and formative Ideas, the source of universal and certain truths, each of their proper kind. But to follow out the traces of this analogy, and to verify the existence of those Fundamental Ideas in Morals and Politics, is a task quite out of the sphere of the work in which we are here engaged.
3. We can also see that this organization of Sciences based on the Fundamental Ideas they involve indicates a shift from areas of human knowledge that we’ve covered in our History and Philosophy to other fields of speculation that we haven't explored. We’ve often found ourselves on the edge of inquiries related to psychology, morality, or theology. For instance, the History of Physiology28led us to consider 138 Life, Sensation, and Volition; and we paused at these Ideas to avoid crossing the limits of our predetermined subject. Clearly, pursuing such ideas and their implications would guide us toward sciences (if we can refer to them as that) that examine not just animal behavior, but also human motivations—namely, Anthropology and Psychology. Additionally, the Ideas we’ve explored, while clearly foundational for the sciences we discussed, also hint at different kinds of speculation. For example, the Idea of a Final Cause is crucial in Biology, as we noted; however, once we accept the notion of Design as governing the order of nature, it quickly leads us to more profound considerations. Furthermore, the Class of Palætiological Sciences that we constructed in the History, although we only included one example (Geology), actually encompasses a wide range of research—like the history and causes of species division, the history of languages and the arts, and thus civilization itself. Along with these studies comes the question of how far these histories trace back to a natural or supernatural origin, which brings the Idea of a First Cause into our discussion. Lastly, it’s clear that just as the Physical Sciences have distinct governing Ideas that support and shape them, the Moral and Political Sciences must also have their foundational and shaping Ideas, which provide universal and certain truths of their own kind. However, exploring this analogy and confirming the presence of those Fundamental Ideas in Morals and Politics is beyond the scope of the work we are engaging in here.
4. We may now place before the reader our Classification of the Sciences. I have added to the list of Sciences, a few not belonging to our present subject, that the nature of the transition by which we are to extend our philosophy into a wider and higher region may be in some measure perceived. 139
4. We can now present our Classification of the Sciences. I’ve included a few additional fields that aren’t directly related to our current topic, so that the nature of the transition through which we plan to broaden our philosophy into a more expansive and elevated area can be somewhat grasped. 139
The Classification of the Sciences is given over leaf.
The Classification of the Sciences is provided on the next page.
A few remarks upon it offer themselves.
A few comments about it come to mind.
The Pure Mathematical Sciences can hardly be called Inductive Sciences. Their principles are not obtained by Induction from Facts, but are necessarily assumed in reasoning upon the subject matter which those sciences involve.
The Pure Mathematical Sciences can hardly be called Inductive Sciences. Their principles aren’t derived from facts through induction but are instead necessary assumptions made when reasoning about the subject matter these sciences address.
The Astronomy of the Ancients aimed only at explaining the motions of the heavenly bodies, as a mechanism. Modern Astronomy, explains these motions on the principles of Mechanics.
The astronomy of ancient civilizations focused solely on describing the movements of celestial bodies as a mechanism. Modern astronomy explains these movements based on the principles of mechanics.
The term Physics, when confined to a peculiar class of Sciences, is usually understood to exclude the Mechanical Sciences on the one side, and Chemistry on the other; and thus embraces the Secondary Mechanical and Analytico-Mechanical Sciences. But the adjective Physical applied to any science and opposed to Formal, as in Astronomy and Optics, implies those speculations in which we consider not only the Laws of Phenomena but their Causes; and generally, as in those cases, their Mechanical Causes.
The term Physics, when limited to a specific class of sciences, typically excludes the Mechanical Sciences on one side and Chemistry on the other; thus, it includes the Secondary Mechanical and Analytico-Mechanical Sciences. However, the adjective Physical, when applied to any science and contrasted with Formal, as in Astronomy and Optics, refers to those explorations where we examine not just the Laws of Phenomena but also their Causes; and generally, in those instances, their Mechanical Causes.
The term Metaphysics is applied to subjects in which the Facts examined are emotions, thoughts and mental conditions; subjects not included in our present survey. 140
The term Metaphysics refers to topics that involve emotions, thoughts, and mental states; subjects that aren't part of our current discussion. 140
Fundamental Ideas or Conceptions. | Sciences. | Classification. | |
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Space | Geometry | ⎫ | |
Time | ⎪ | Pure Mathematical | |
Number | Arithmetic | ⎬ | |
Sign | Algebra | ⎪ | Sciences. |
Limit | Differentials | ⎭ | |
Motion | Pure Mechanism | ⎱ | Pure Motional |
Formal Astronomy | ⎰ | Sciences. | |
Cause | |||
Force | Statics | ⎫ | |
Matter | Dynamics | ⎪ | Mechanical |
Inertia | Hydrostatics | ⎬ | |
Fluid Pressure | Hydrodynamics | ⎪ | Sciences. |
Physical Astronomy | ⎭ | ||
Outness | |||
Medium of Sensation | Acoustics | ⎫ | |
Intensity of Qualities | Formal Optics | ⎪ | Secondary |
Scales of Qualities | Physical Optics | ⎬ | Mechanical |
Thermotics | ⎪ | Sciences. | |
Atmology | ⎭ | (Physics.) | |
Polarity | Electricity | ⎫ | Analytico-Mecha- |
Magnetism | ⎬ | nical Sciences. | |
Galvanism | ⎭ | (Physics.) | |
Element (Composition) | |||
Chemical Affinity | |||
Substance (Atoms) | Chemistry | Analytical Science. | |
Symmetry | Crystallography | ⎱ | Analytico-Classifi- |
Likeness | Systematic Mineralogy | ⎰ | catory Sciences. |
Degrees of Likeness | Systematic Botany | ⎫ | Classificatory |
Systematic Zoology | ⎬ | ||
Natural Affinity | Comparative Anatomy | ⎭ | Sciences. |
(Vital Powers) | |||
Assimilation | |||
Irritability | |||
(Organization) | Biology | Organical Sciences. | |
Final Cause | |||
Instinct | |||
Emotion | Psychology | (Metaphysics.) | |
Thought | |||
Historical Causation | Geology | ⎫ | |
Distribution of | ⎪ | Palætiological | |
Plants and Animals | ⎬ | ||
Glossology | ⎪ | Sciences. | |
Ethnography | ⎭ | ||
First Cause | Natural Theology. |
[Transcriber's note: Two large charts were inserted into the book at this point. Here they have been reproduced as tables. But since the originals were much wider than the book pages they are somewhat unwieldy tables. They are omitted in ePub and Kindle files. In the lines containing brackets, vertical lines are used to indicate the range of columns thus brought together, where this is not obvious. To move on to the text of Book III., click here.]
[Transcriber's note: Two large charts were added to the book here. They have been reproduced as tables, but since the originals were much wider than the book pages, they are a bit awkward as tables. They are left out of the ePub and Kindle files. In the lines with brackets, vertical lines indicate the range of columns grouped together where it isn't clear. To proceed to the text of Book III., click here.]
INDUCTIVE TABLE OF ASTRONOMY
Astronomy Inductive Table
Earth appears to be immovable. | The Stars keep their relative places in the vault of the sky, and with the Sun and Moon, rise, move, and set. | The Moon bright part is of the shape of a ball enlightened by the Sun. | Moon Eclipses occur when she is full. | Eclipses of the Sun and Moon often occur. | The Moon rises and sets at different times and places. Her course among the Stars varies. | The Planets are morning and evening Stars: are direct, stationary, and retrograde. | The Sun rises, culminates, and sets in different times and places at different seasons: different Star patterns are visible at night. | The Waves ebb and flow. | ||||||
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Chaldeans. The Sphere of the Heavens appears to make a Diurnal Revolution. | Greeks. The Moon receives her light from the Sun. | Greeks. The Moon’s Eclipses are caused by the Earth’s shadow. | Chaldeans. The Moon’s Eclipses follow certain cycles. | Greeks. The Moon appears to revolve monthly in an oblique orbit, which has Nodes and an Apogee. | Chaldeans. The Planets have proper motions and certain Cycles. | Pythagoras. The Sun appears to move annually in an Ecliptic oblique to the diurnal motion. | The places of Stars are determined by their Longitude measured from the Equinox. | |||||||
The forms and dists of known parts of the earth are such as fit a convex surface. | The visible Pole of the Heavens rises or drops as we travel N. or S. | The boundary of the Earth’s shadow is always circular. | By observations of Eclipses, the Moon’s Nodes and Apogee revolve, and her motion is unequal according to certain laws. | By observations of the Planets, their progressions, stations, and retrogradations. | By observations of the Sun, his motion is unequal according to certain laws. | By observations, Longitudes of Stars increase. | By observations, the Tides depend on the Moon and Sun. | |||||||
⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ||||||||||
Aristotle? The Earth is a Globe, about which the Sphere of the Heavens performs a Diurnal Revolution. | Hipparchus. The Moon appears to move in an Epicycle carried by a Deferent: the Velocity of Apogee and Nodes determined. | Eudoxus. The Planets appear to move in Epicycles carried by Deferents. | Hipparchus. The Sun appears to move in an Eccentric, his Apogee being fixed. | Hipparchus. There is a Precession of the Equinoxes. | ||||||||||
By additional observations, the Moon’s motion has another inequality. Evection. | By additional observations, the Planets’ motions in their Epicycles are unequal according to certain laws. | By additional observations, the Sun’s Apogee moves. Albategnius. | ||||||||||||
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Ptolemy. The Moon appears to move in an Epicycle carried by an Eccentric. | Ptolemy. The Planets appear to move in Epicycles carried by Eccentrics. | |||||||||||||
* By the nature of motion, the apparent motion is the same whether the Heavens or the Earth have a diurnal revolution: the latter is simpler. | * By the nature of motion, the apparent motion is the same if the Planets revolve about the Sun: this is simpler. | * By the nature of motion, the apparent motion of the Sun is the same if the Earth revolve round the Sun: this is simpler. | ||||||||||||
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Copernicus. The Earth and Planets revolve about the Sun as a center in Orbits nearly circular. The Earth revolves about its axis inclined to the Ecliptic in a constant position, and the Moon revolves about the Earth. The Heliocentric Theory governs subsequent speculations. | ||||||||||||||
——⏞—— | ||||||||||||||
Retaining Moon’s Eccentric and Epicycle; By additional observations, the Moon’s motion has other inequalities. |
Retaining but referring to the Sun as center the Planets’ Epicycles and Eccentrics and the annual Orbit; | Retaining obsns. Earth’s Aphelion revolves. | ||||||||||||
——⏟—— | ||||||||||||||
Tycho. Moon’s Variation; Unequal Motion of Node; Change of Inclination. | By calcns. of the periodic times and distances. | By additional observations and calculations. | By additional observations and calculations. | Planets’ Aphelia revolve. Jupiter and Saturn’s motions have an inequality depg. on their mutual positions. |
The Weight of bodies dimins in going towards the Equator. | The Satellites of Jupiter and Saturn revolve according to Kepler’s Laws. | ||||||||
⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ||||||||||
Horrox. Halley. The Moon moves in an Ellipse with variable axis and eccentricity. | Kepler. Distances cubed are as times squared. | Kepler. Areas as described by Planets are as times. | Kepler. Curves described by Planets are as ellipses. | Newton. Earth is oblate. | ||||||||||
* By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | * By Mechanics. | |||||
⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ||||||||
* Newton. Moon is attracted by the Earth. Fall of heavy bodies. |
* Newton. Moon‘s inequalities produced by attraction of Sun. | Newton. Wren. Hooke. Sun’s force on different Planets is invers. as square of distance. | * Newton. Planets are attracted by the Sun. | Newton. Sun attracts Planets invers. as square of distance. | * Newton. These inequalities are produced by mutual attraction of the Planets. | Precession of Equinoxes is produced by attraction of Moon and Sun on oblate Earth. | Tides are produced by attraction of Moon and Sun on Sea. Explanation not clear. |
Diminution of gravity and oblateness of Earth arise from attractions of parts. | * Newton. Jupiter and Saturn attract their Satellites inversely as the square of the distance, and the Sun attracts Planets and Satellites alike. | |||||
⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ⏟ | ||||||||
Newton. Earth attracts Moon invers. as square of distance. | Newton. Sun attracts Moon. | Newton. Sun attracts Planets inversely as the square of the distance. | Newton. Planets attract each other. | * Newton. Moon and Sun attract parts of the Earth. | Newton. Moon and Sun attract the Ocean. | Newton. Parts of the Earth attract each other. | ||||||||
————⏟———— | ||||||||||||||
Newton. All parts of the Earth, Sun, Moon. and Planets attract each other with Forces inversely as the square of the distance. | ||||||||||||||
————⏟———— | ||||||||||||||
Newton. The Law of Universal Gravitation. (All bodies attract each other with a Force of Gravity which is inversely as the squares of the distances.) |
First Facts. The common and obvious Phænomena of Light and Vision.
First Facts. The common and obvious phenomena of light and vision.
By the Idea of a Medium Light and Vision take place by means of something intermediate.
By the Idea of a Medium, light and vision occur through something that acts as an intermediary.
First Law of Phænomena. The effects take place in straight lines denoted by the Term Rays.
First Law of Phenomena. The effects occur in straight lines referred to as Rays.
Facts of | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | ......... | |||||||||||||
Rays falling on water, specula, &c. | Rays passing through water, glass, &c. Measures. Ptolemy. |
Colours seen by prisms, in rainbow, &c. | Colours in diff. transp. Substances. Optical instrumts. | Two Images in Rhomb. of Calcspar. | Two Images in other crystals. | Two Rhombs of Calcspar make 4 images alternately appear and disappear. | |
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Fringes of shadows. Grimaldi. Hook. Newton. |
Spectra of gratings. Fraunhofer Institute. |
Colours of striated surfaces. Coventry’s Micrometr. Barton’s Buttons. Youthful. |
Colours of thick Plates. Newton. |
Colours of thin Plates. Hook. Newton. |
⏟ | ⏟ | —————⏟————— | |
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Euclid. Ang. Inc. equals Ang. Reflection. |
Snell. Sin. Refr. to Sin. Inc. in giv. Ratio in same med. | By measures of Refraction. | Dispersion of colours is same when Refr. is diff. Measures. Dollond. |
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Huygens. Rays of light have four Sides with regard to which their properties alternate. Newton. Idea of Polarization introduced, which governs subsequent observations. Dipolarization with Colours. |
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Newt. Refr. Ro. is diff. for diff. colours, but in same med. is const. for each colour. | Measures. Huygens. | Double Refr. in biaxal crystals. Brewster. |
Rays are polarized by Calcspar, Quartz, &c. | Rays are polarized by biaxal crystals. | Rays are polarized by Tourmaline, Agate, &c. | Rays are polarised by Refl. at glass. | Rays are polarized by transmission through glass. | Variable qy. of pol. refl. light paral. plane of Refl. Arago. |
Variable qy. of pol. refl. light perp. plane of Refl. | Whole light reflected by internal Refl. | Pol. Rays through uniaxal crystals give colours. Rings. Wollaston. | Pol. Rays through biaxal crystals give colours. Arago. |
Pol. Rays. through imperf. crystallized bodies give colours. (Glass strained, jellies prest.) Brewster. |
Pol. Rays in axis of Quartz give a peculiar set of colours. Plane of Poln twisted diffly. for diff. colours. Biot. Arago. |
Pol. Rays oblique in Quartz give peculiar rings, &c. | Pol. Rays through certain liquids give a peculiar set of colours. | The Laws of these Phænomena were never discovered till Theory had indicated them. | Newton’s Scale of Colours. Fits of Rays. Newton. |
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Propn of Ref. Rs is diff. in diff. med. Achromatism. |
Huyghs. Law of Double Ref. exp. by a spheroid. |
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Change of plane of pol. by Refl. Arago |
Light is circularly pol. by 2 Refl. in Fresnel’s Rhomb. Fresnel lens. |
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Plane of Poln. twisted. Biot |
Fringes obliterated by stopping light from one edge or interposing a glass. Young. Arago. |
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Ratios not reconcilable. Irrationality. Blair. |
Fresnel lens. |
Law exp. by surface of 4 dims. | Newt. Bad apple. Ray pol. in principal plane of Rhomb.; and perp. to it. | Brews. Biot. Ray pol. in plane bisecting ang.at axis; and perp. to it. | Drinks. Ray pol. paral. to axis. | Malus. Ray pol. in plane of Refl. for given angle. | Bad apple. Ray partially pol. in plane perp. to plane of Reflection. | None Refld. if tan. ang. equal Refr. Ro. Brewster. |
Tint is as sq. of sin. Biot. |
Tint is as sin. α sin. β. Brewster. Biot. Lemniscates. J. Herschel. |
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* By interf. of resolved undulns. of 2 rays circularly pold. in opp. directions. Fresnel lens. |
* By interf. of resolved undulns. of 2 rays elliptically pold. in opp. directions. Breezy. |
* By interf. of rays from edges. Youthful. |
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* Refl. produced by spherical undulns. | * Refr. produced by spherical undulns. of diff. vel. for diff. colour. | Explanation unclear. | * Refr. produced by spheroidal undulns. | * Refr. produced by curved surf. undulns. | * Poln. being prod. by resolution of transve undulns. | * Poln. being prod. by resolution of transve undulns. | † Explanation imperfect. | * Polarization being produced by resolution of transverse undulations. | * Undulns. being comd. acc. to laws of elastic bodies. | * Undulns. being comd. acc. to a certain hypothesis. | * Impossible formulæ being interpreted by analogy. | * By interf. of resolved parts of transverse undulns. | * By interf. of resolved parts of transverse undulns. | † Explanation imperfect. | * Same hypothesis explains separation of rays in axis and oblique. † Explanation is imperfect. * Maccullagh. |
Explan. wanting. | * By interf. of rays from all parts. * Young. * Fresnel. |
* By interf. of undulns. from all parts. Fraunhofer Institute. |
* By interf. of rays from striæ. Youthful. |
* By interf. of undulns. from two surfaces. * Youth. |
* By interf. of undulns. from two surfaces. Youthful. |
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Huygens. | Reflection and Refraction are propagation of undulations. | |
* Young. * Fresnel. |
Polarization in crystals is transverse undulations. | * Fresnel lens. | Polarization in Reflection and Refraction is transverse undulations. | * Fresnel. * Arago. |
Dipolarized Colours are produced by interference of Rays polarized in same plane; length of undulation being different for different colours. | * Youth. * Fresnel. |
Colours of Fringes, Gratings, Striæ, thick Plates, thin Plates &c. are produced by interference of undulations; length of undulation being different for different colours. | |||||||||||||
* Undulations being propagated by the uniform elasticity of each medium. | * Undulns. prop. by ely. of medium diff. in 2 diff. dirns, (axis of crystal.) | * Undulns. being prop. by elasticity of med. diff. in 3 diff. directions (axes). | |
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Youthful. Reflection and double Refraction are propagation of undulations by crystalline elasticity. | |
Fresnel lens. Double Refr. and Pol. arise from same cause. | |
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Young. | Fresnel lens. | Light is transverse undulations propagated in media by elasticity dependent on axis, when crystalline. | Fresnel lens. | Light is transverse undulns. transmitted from one med. to another according to probable hypotheses. | Young. Fresnel. |
Colours result from interferences, the lengths of undulation being different for different colours. | |||||||||||||||||
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THE UNDULATORY THEORY OF LIGHT. |
NOVUM ORGANON RENOVATUM.
New Organon Renewed.
BOOK III.
OF METHODS EMPLOYED IN THE FORMATION OF SCIENCE.
OF METHODS EMPLOYED IN THE FORMATION OF SCIENCE.
CHAPTER I.
Introduction.
Aphorism XXVII.
Aphorism XXVII.
The Methods by which the construction of Science is promoted are, Methods of Observation, Methods of obtaining clear Ideas, and Methods of Induction.
The ways in which the development of Science is advanced are, Observation methods, methods for gaining clear concepts, and Inductive methods.
1. IN the preceding Book, we pointed out certain general Characters of scientific knowledge which may often serve to distinguish it from opinions of a looser or vaguer kind. In the course of the progress of knowledge from the earliest to the present time, men have been led to a perception, more or less clear, of these characteristics. Various philosophers, from Plato and Aristotle in the ancient world, to Richard de Saint Victor and Roger Bacon in the middle ages, Galileo and Gilbert, Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton, in modern times, were led to offer precepts and maxims, as fitted to guide us to a real and fundamental knowledge of nature. It may on another occasion be our business to estimate the value of these precepts and maxims. And other contributions of the same kind to the philosophy of science might be noticed, and some which 142 contain still more valuable suggestions, and indicate a more practical acquaintance with the subject. Among these, I must especially distinguish Sir John Herschel’s Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. But my object at present is not to relate the history, but to present the really valuable results of preceding labours: and I shall endeavour to collect, both from them and from my own researches and reflections, such views and such rules as seem best adapted to assist us in the discovery and recognition of scientific truth; or, at least, such as may enable us to understand the process by which this truth is obtained. I would present to the reader the Philosophy and, if possible, the Art of Discovery.
In the previous book, we highlighted some general traits of scientific knowledge that can often help differentiate it from more casual or vague opinions. Over time, from the earliest days to now, people have developed a clearer understanding of these traits. Various philosophers, from Plato and Aristotle in ancient times to Richard de Saint Victor and Roger Bacon in the Middle Ages, and then Galileo, Gilbert, Francis Bacon, and Isaac Newton in modern times, have put forth guidelines and principles meant to lead us to a true and fundamental understanding of nature. We may evaluate the worth of these principles at another time. Other similar contributions to the philosophy of science could also be mentioned, including some that offer even more valuable insights and show a more practical familiarity with the topic. Among these, I particularly want to highlight Sir John Herschel’s Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. However, my current focus is not to recount the history but to present the genuinely valuable outcomes of previous efforts. I will strive to gather insights and rules from both these earlier works and my own research and reflections, which seem best suited to help us discover and recognize scientific truth; or at least to help us understand how this truth is attained. I aim to present the Philosophy and, if possible, the Art of Discovery.
2. But, in truth, we must acknowledge, before we proceed with this subject, that, speaking with strictness, an Art of Discovery is not possible;—that we can give no Rules for the pursuit of truth which shall be universally and peremptorily applicable;—and that the helps which we can offer to the inquirer in such cases are limited and precarious. Still, we trust it will be found that aids may be pointed out which are neither worthless nor uninstructive. The mere classification of examples of successful inquiry, to which our rules give occasion, is full of interest for the philosophical speculator. And if our maxims direct the discoverer to no operations which might not have occurred to his mind of themselves, they may still concentrate our attention on that which is most important and characteristic in these operations, and may direct us to the best mode of insuring their success. I shall, therefore, attempt to resolve the Process of Discovery into its parts, and to give an account as distinct as may be of Rules and Methods which belong to each portion of the process.
2. However, we have to admit, before we continue with this topic, that, if we're being strict, there isn't really an Art of Discovery; we can’t provide any universal and absolute rules for finding the truth; and the guidance we can offer to those searching for answers is limited and unreliable. Still, we believe there are helpful insights to share that are neither useless nor uninformative. Simply categorizing examples of successful inquiries, which our rules encourage, is quite fascinating for those who think deeply about these issues. Even if our principles don’t lead the discoverer to any ideas they wouldn’t have thought of on their own, they can still help focus our attention on what’s most important and distinctive about these efforts and guide us on the best ways to ensure their success. Therefore, I will attempt to break down the Process of Discovery into its components and provide as clear an explanation as possible of the Rules and Methods that apply to each part of the process.
3. In Book II. we considered the three main parts of the process by which science is constructed: namely, the Decomposition and Observation of Complex Facts; the Explication of our Ideal Conceptions; and the Colligation of Elementary Facts by means of those Conceptions. The first and last of 143 these three steps are capable of receiving additional accuracy by peculiar processes. They may further the advance of science in a more effectual manner, when directed by special technical Methods, of which in the present Book we must give a brief view. In this more technical form, the observation of facts involves the Measurement of Phenomena; and the Colligation of Facts includes all arts and rules by which the process of Induction can be assisted. Hence we shall have here to consider Methods of Observation, and Methods of Induction, using these phrases in the widest sense. The second of the three steps above mentioned, the Explication of our Conceptions, does not admit of being much assisted by methods, although something may be done by Education and Discussion.
3. In Book II., we looked at the three main parts of how science is built: specifically, breaking down and observing complex facts; explaining our ideal ideas; and connecting basic facts using those ideas. The first and last of these three steps can be made more precise through specific processes. They can help advance science more effectively when guided by particular technical Methods, which we will briefly overview in this book. In this more technical context, observing facts involves the Measurement of Phenomena; and connecting facts includes all the techniques and rules that can assist the process of Induction. Therefore, we will need to examine Methods of Observation and Methods of Induction, using these terms in their broadest sense. The second step mentioned above, explaining our ideas, doesn’t benefit much from methods, although some progress can be made through Education and Discussion.
4. The Methods of Induction, of which we have to
speak, apply only to the first step in our ascent from
phenomena to laws of nature;—the discovery of Laws
of Phenomena. A higher and ulterior step remains
behind, and follows in natural order the discovery of
Laws of Phenomena; namely, the Discovery of Causes;
and this must be stated as a distinct and essential process
in a complete view of the course of science. Again,
when we have thus ascended to the causes of phenomena and
of their laws, we can often reason downwards from the cause
so discovered; and we are thus
led to suggestions of new phenomena, or to new explanations
of phenomena already known. Such proceedings may be termed
Applications of our Discoveries;
including in the phrase, Verifications of our Doctrines
by such an application of them to observed facts.
Hence we have the following series of processes concerned
in the formation of science.
(1.) Decomposition of Facts;
(2.) Measurement of Phenomena;
(3.) Explication of Conceptions;
(4.) Induction of Laws of Phenomena;
(5.) Induction of Causes;
(6.) Application of Inductive Discoveries.
4. The methods of induction we're discussing apply only to the first step in our journey from observations to natural laws: the discovery of Laws of Phenomena. A further and subsequent step follows naturally after discovering the Laws of Phenomena, which is the Discovery of Causes; this needs to be outlined as a separate and crucial process for a complete understanding of the scientific journey. Additionally, once we reach the causes of phenomena and their laws, we can often reason backward from the discovered cause. This leads us to propose new phenomena or provide new explanations for phenomena we already know. These actions can be called Applications of our Discoveries, which includes Verifications of our theories by applying them to observed facts. Thus, we have the following series of processes involved in forming science.
(1.) Decomposition of Facts;
(2.) Measurement of Phenomena;
(3.) Explication of Conceptions;
(4.) Induction of Laws of Phenomena;
(5.) Induction of Causes;
(6.) Application of Inductive Discoveries.
5. Of these six processes, the methods by which the second and fourth may be assisted are here our 144 peculiar object of attention. The treatment of these subjects in the present work must necessarily be scanty and imperfect, although we may perhaps be able to add something to what has hitherto been systematically taught on these heads. Methods of Observation and of Induction might of themselves form an abundant subject for a treatise, and hereafter probably will do so, in the hands of future writers. A few remarks, offered as contributions to this subject, may serve to show how extensive it is, and how much more ready it now is than it ever before was, for a systematic discussion.
5. Of these six processes, we will focus on the methods that can support the second and fourth. The treatment of these topics in our present work will inevitably be limited and not fully developed, but we might be able to add to what has been systematically taught about them so far. Methods of Observation and Induction could themselves provide enough material for a detailed study, and in the future, they likely will, in the hands of upcoming authors. A few comments offered as contributions to this topic may help illustrate its vastness and how ready it is now for a systematic discussion more than it ever was before.
Of the above steps of the formation of science, the first, the Decomposition of Facts, has already been sufficiently explained in the last Book: for if we pursue it into further detail and exactitude, we find that we gradually trench upon some of the succeeding parts. I, therefore, proceed to treat of the second step, the Measurement of Phenomena;—of Methods by which this work, in its widest sense, is executed, and these I shall term Methods of Observation.
Of the steps involved in forming science, the first step, the Decomposition of Facts, has already been thoroughly explained in the previous book. If we dive deeper into this topic, we find that we start to overlap with some of the following sections. Therefore, I will now discuss the second step, the Measurement of Phenomena—specifically, the Methods through which this work, in its broadest sense, is carried out, which I will refer to as Methods of Observation.
CHAPTER II.
Observation Methods.
Aphorism XXVIII.
Aphorism XXVIII.
The Methods of Observation of Quantity in general are, Numeration, which is precise by the nature of Number; the Measurement of Space and of Time, which are easily made precise; the Conversion of Space and Time, by which each aids the measurement of the other; the Method of Repetition; the Method of Coincidences or Interferences. The measurement of Weight is made precise by the Method of Double-weighing. Secondary Qualities are measured by means of Scales of Degrees; but in order to apply these Scales, the student requires the Education of the Senses. The Education of the Senses is forwarded by the practical study of Descriptive Natural History, Chemical Manipulation, and Astronomical Observation.
The Methods of Observing Quantity in general are, Numeration, which is accurate by the nature of Number; the Measurement of Space and Time, which are easily measured precisely; the Conversion of Space and Time, where each helps in measuring the other; the Method of Repetition; the Method of Coincidences or Interferences. The measurement of Weight is made precise by the Method of Double-weighing. Secondary Qualities are measured by Scales of Degrees; but to use these Scales, the student needs the Education of the Senses. The Education of the Senses is enhanced by the practical study of Descriptive Natural History, Chemical Manipulation, and Astronomical Observation.
1. I SHALL speak, in this chapter, of Methods of exact and systematic observation, by which such facts are collected as form the materials of precise scientific propositions. These Methods are very various, according to the nature of the subject inquired into, and other circumstances: but a great portion of them agree in being processes of measurement. These I shall peculiarly consider: and in the first place those referring to Number, Space, and Time, which are at the same time objects and instruments of measurement.
I WILL discuss, in this chapter, methods of accurate and systematic observation, through which facts are collected to create the basis of precise scientific statements. These methods vary greatly, depending on the subject being studied and other factors; however, many of them involve measurement processes. I will focus specifically on these methods, starting with those related to number, space, and time, which serve as both the subjects and tools of measurement.
2. But though we have to explain how observations may be made as perfect as possible, we must not forget that in most cases complete perfection is unattainable. Observations are never perfect. For we 146 observe phenomena by our senses, and measure their relations in time and space; but our senses and our measures are all, from various causes, inaccurate. If we have to observe the exact place of the moon among the stars, how much of instrumental apparatus is necessary! This apparatus has been improved by many successive generations of astronomers, yet it is still far from being perfect. And the senses of man, as well as his implements, are limited in their exactness. Two different observers do not obtain precisely the same measures of the time and place of a phenomenon; as, for instance, of the moment at which the moon occults a star, and the point of her limb at which the occultation takes place. Here, then, is a source of inaccuracy and errour, even in astronomy, where the means of exact observation are incomparably more complete than they are in any other department of human research. In other cases, the task of obtaining accurate measures is far more difficult. If we have to observe the tides of the ocean when rippled with waves, we can see the average level of the water first rise and then fall; but how hard is it to select the exact moment when it is at its greatest height, or the exact highest point which it reaches! It is very easy, in such a case, to err by many minutes in time, and by several inches in space.
2. While we need to explain how we can make observations as perfect as possible, we shouldn't forget that complete perfection is often out of reach. Observations are never perfect. We observe phenomena using our senses and measure their relationships in time and space, but our senses and measurements are all, for various reasons, inaccurate. To pinpoint the exact location of the moon among the stars, a lot of equipment is needed! This equipment has been refined by many generations of astronomers, yet it's still far from perfect. Human senses and tools are also limited in how accurately they can measure. Two different observers won't get exactly the same measurements of the time and location of a phenomenon; for example, when the moon covers a star, they may disagree on the exact moment or the specific point on the moon's edge where the occultation occurs. This introduces inaccuracies and errors, even in astronomy, where the means for precise observation are vastly better than in any other area of human exploration. In other situations, getting accurate measurements is much more challenging. For instance, when we try to observe ocean tides disturbed by waves, we can see the average water level rise and fall, but it's tough to identify the exact moment when it's at its highest point or the precise maximum height it reaches! In such cases, it’s very easy to make mistakes by several minutes in time and several inches in distance.
Still, in many cases, good Methods can remove very much of this inaccuracy, and to these we now proceed.
Still, in many cases, effective methods can eliminate a lot of this inaccuracy, and we will now discuss those.
3. (I.) Number.—Number is the first step of measurement, since it measures itself, and does not, like space and time, require an arbitrary standard. Hence the first exact observations, and the first advances of rigorous knowledge, appear to have been made by means of number; as for example,—the number of days in a month and in a year;—the cycles according to which eclipses occur;—the number of days in the revolutions of the planets; and the like. All these discoveries, as we have seen in the History of Astronomy, go back to the earliest period of the science, anterior to any distinct tradition; and these discoveries presuppose a series, probably a very long series, of observations, made 147 principally by means of number. Nations so rude as to have no other means of exact measurement, have still systems of numeration by which they can reckon to a considerable extent. Very often, such nations have very complex systems, which are capable of expressing numbers of great magnitude. Number supplies the means of measuring other quantities, by the assumption of a unit of measure of the appropriate kind: but where nature supplies the unit, number is applicable directly and immediately. Number is an important element in the Classificatory as well as in the Mathematical Sciences. The History of those Sciences shows how the formation of botanical systems was effected by the adoption of number as a leading element, by Cæsalpinus; and how afterwards the Reform of Linnæus in classification depended in a great degree on his finding, in the pistils and stamens, a better numerical basis than those before employed. In like manner, the number of rays in the membrane of the gills1, and the number of rays in the fins of fish, were found to be important elements in ichthyological classification by Artedi and Linnæus. There are innumerable instances, in all parts of Natural History, of the importance of the observation of number. And in this observation, no instrument, scale or standard is needed, or can be applied; except the scale of natural numbers, expressed either in words or in figures, can be considered as an instrument.
3. (I.) Number.—Number is the first step in measurement because it measures itself and doesn't need an arbitrary standard like space and time. Therefore, the first precise observations and significant advancements in rigorous knowledge seem to have been made through numbers; for example, the number of days in a month and a year, the cycles that determine when eclipses happen, and the number of days it takes for planets to revolve. All these discoveries, as discussed in the History of Astronomy, date back to the earliest days of the science, before any clear traditions existed; and these findings rely on a series, likely a very long series, of observations primarily based on numbers. Even societies that are too primitive to have any other exact measurement methods still use counting systems that allow them to count extensively. Often, such societies have intricate systems capable of expressing very large numbers. Number provides a way to measure other quantities by assuming a suitable unit of measurement: but when nature provides the unit, number can be applied directly and immediately. Number plays a key role in both the Classificatory and Mathematical Sciences. The history of these sciences shows how Cæsalpinus used number as a fundamental element to create botanical systems, and how Linnæus's reform of classification depended significantly on his discovery of a better numerical basis in pistils and stamens than what was previously used. Similarly, the number of rays in the gill membranes1, and the rays in fish fins were recognized as vital for ichthyological classification by Artedi and Linnæus. There are countless examples across all areas of Natural History highlighting the importance of observing numbers. In this observation, no instruments, scales, or standards are needed or can be applied, except the natural number scale, which can be expressed in words or figures and can be considered as an instrument.
4. (II.) Measurement of Space.—Of quantities admitting of continuous increase and decrease, (for number is discontinuous,) space is the most simple in its mode of measurement, and requires most frequently to be measured. The obvious mode of measuring space is by the repeated application of a material measure, as when we take a foot-rule and measure the length of a room. And in this case the foot-rule is the unit of space, and the length of the room is expressed by the number of such units which it contains: or, as it may not contain an exact number, by a number with a fraction. But besides this measurement of linear space, 148 there is another kind of space which, for purposes of science, it is still more important to measure, namely, angular space. The visible heavens being considered as a sphere, the portions and paths of the heavenly bodies are determined by drawing circles on the surface of this sphere, and are expressed by means of the parts of these circles thus intercepted: by such measures the doctrines of astronomy were obtained in the very beginning of the science. The arcs of circles thus measured, are not like linear spaces, reckoned by means of an arbitrary unit, for there is a natural unit, the total circumference, to which all arcs may be referred. For the sake of convenience, the whole circumference is divided into 360 parts or degrees; and by means of these degrees and their parts, all arcs are expressed. The arcs are the measures of the angles at the center, and the degrees may be considered indifferently as measuring the one or the other of these quantities.
4. (II.) Measurement of Space.—For quantities that can increase or decrease continuously (since numbers are discontinuous), space is the simplest to measure and is measured most often. The obvious way to measure space is by repeatedly using a physical measure, like when we use a ruler to measure the length of a room. In this case, the ruler serves as the unit of space, and the room's length is represented by how many of those units fit into it; or, if it doesn’t fit exactly, by using a number with a fraction. However, beyond measuring linear space, 148 another type of space that is even more essential for science is angular space. When considering the visible heavens as a sphere, the locations and paths of celestial bodies are identified by drawing circles on this sphere's surface, represented by the segments of these circles. Such measurements formed the foundation of astronomy from the very start of the science. The arcs of these measured circles are not counted like linear spaces using an arbitrary unit, as there exists a natural unit—the total circumference—against which all arcs can be compared. For convenience, the entire circumference is divided into 360 parts or degrees; and through these degrees and their subdivisions, all arcs are quantified. The arcs correspond to the angles at the center, and the degrees can be used interchangeably to measure either of these aspects.
5. In the History of Astronomy2, I have described the method of observation of celestial angles employed by the Greeks. They determined the lines in which the heavenly bodies were seen, by means either of Shadows, or of Sights; and measured the angles between such lines by arcs or rules properly applied to them. The Armill, Astrolabe, Dioptra, and Parallactic Instrument of the ancients, were some of the instruments thus constructed. Tycho Brahe greatly improved the methods of astronomical observation by giving steadiness to the frame of his instruments, (which were large quadrants,) and accuracy to the divisions of the limb3. But the application of the telescope to the astronomical quadrant and the fixation of the center of the field by a cross of fine wires placed in the focus, was an immense improvement of the instrument, since it substituted a precise visual ray, pointing to the star, instead of the coarse coincidence of Sights. The accuracy of observation was still further increased 149 by applying to the telescope a micrometer which might subdivide the smaller divisions of the arc.
5. In the History of Astronomy2, I have described the method the Greeks used to observe celestial angles. They figured out the lines along which celestial bodies were visible, using either Shadows or Sights, and measured the angles between those lines with correctly applied arcs or rulers. The Armill, Astrolabe, Dioptra, and Parallactic Instrument of the ancients were some of the instruments built for this purpose. Tycho Brahe made significant advancements in astronomical observation by stabilizing the frame of his instruments, which were large quadrants, and enhancing the accuracy of the divisions on the limb3. However, the introduction of the telescope to the astronomical quadrant and the use of a cross of thin wires in the focal point greatly improved the instrument, as it replaced the rough alignment of Sights with a precise visual ray aimed at the star. The accuracy of observations was further enhanced 149 by attaching a micrometer to the telescope, which could subdivide the smaller divisions of the arc.
6. By this means, the precision of astronomical observation was made so great, that very minute angular spaces could be measured: and it then became a question whether discrepancies which appeared at first as defects in the theory, might not arise sometimes from a bending or shaking of the instrument, and from the degrees marked on the limb being really somewhat unequal, instead of being rigorously equal. Accordingly, the framing and balancing of the instrument, so as to avoid all possible tremor or flexure, and the exact division of an arc into equal parts, became great objects of those who wished to improve astronomical observations. The observer no longer gazed at the stars from a lofty tower, but placed his telescope on the solid ground,—and braced and balanced it with various contrivances. Instead of a quadrant, an entire circle was introduced (by Ramsden;) and various processes were invented for the dividing of instruments. Among these we may notice Troughton’s method of dividing; in which the visual ray of a microscope was substituted for the points of a pair of compasses, and, by stepping round the circle, the partial arcs were made to bear their exact relation to the whole circumference.
6. As a result, the accuracy of astronomical observation improved so much that very small angular measurements could be taken. It then raised the question of whether the discrepancies that initially seemed like flaws in the theory could actually be due to the instrument bending or shaking, and whether the markings on the limb were truly equal instead of perfectly uniform. Thus, creating and balancing the instrument to eliminate any possible tremor or flexing, and accurately dividing an arc into equal parts, became major goals for those looking to enhance astronomical observations. The observer no longer looked at the stars from a tall tower but instead set up his telescope on solid ground—stabilizing and balancing it with various tools. Instead of using a quadrant, a complete circle was introduced (by Ramsden), and different methods were developed for dividing instruments. Among these, we can highlight Troughton's method of dividing, which used the visual ray of a microscope in place of the points of a compass, allowing the partial arcs to accurately relate to the entire circumference by stepping around the circle.
7. Astronomy is not the only science which depends on the measurement of angles. Crystallography also requires exact measures of this kind; and the goniometer, especially that devised by Wollaston, supplies the means of obtaining such measures. The science of Optics also, in many cases, requires the measurement of angles.
7. Astronomy isn’t the only science that relies on measuring angles. Crystallography also needs precise measurements like this, and the goniometer, particularly the one created by Wollaston, provides the tools to get those measurements. The science of optics often requires measuring angles as well.
8. In the measurement of linear space, there is no natural standard which offers itself. Most of the common measures appear to be taken from some part of the human body; as a foot, a cubit, a fathom; but such measures cannot possess any precision, and are altered by convention: thus there were in ancient times many kinds of cubits; and in modern Europe, there are a great number of different standards of the foot, as the Rhenish foot, the Paris foot, the English foot. It is 150 very desirable that, if possible, some permanent standard, founded in nature, should be adopted; for the conventional measures are lost in the course of ages; and thus, dimensions expressed by means of them become unintelligible. Two different natural standards have been employed in modern times: the French have referred their measures of length to the total circumference of a meridian of the earth; a quadrant of this meridian consists of ten million units or metres. The English have fixed their linear measure by reference to the length of a pendulum which employs an exact second of time in its small oscillation. Both these methods occasion considerable difficulties in carrying them into effect; and are to be considered mainly as means of recovering the standard if it should ever be lost. For common purposes, some material standard is adopted as authority for the time: for example, the standard which in England possessed legal authority up to the year 1835 was preserved in the House of Parliament; and was lost in the conflagration which destroyed that edifice. The standard of length now generally referred to by men of science in England is that which is in the possession of the Astronomical Society of London.
8. When it comes to measuring linear space, there's no natural standard that comes to mind. Most common measures seem to be based on parts of the human body, like a foot, a cubit, or a fathom; but these measurements lack precision and can change based on agreements. In ancient times, there were many different kinds of cubits, and in modern Europe, there are various standards for the foot, such as the Rhenish foot, the Paris foot, and the English foot. It’s 150 very important that if possible, a permanent standard based in nature should be established, because conventional measures can be lost over time, making dimensions expressed through them unclear. In modern times, two different natural standards have been used: the French have based their measurements of length on the total circumference of a meridian of the earth, with a quadrant of this meridian consisting of ten million units or metres. The English have defined their length measure by the distance a pendulum swings to mark exactly one second. Both methods come with significant challenges in implementation and should mainly be seen as ways to recover the standard if it’s ever lost. For everyday purposes, a material standard is used as the authority: for instance, the legal standard in England until 1835 was kept in the House of Parliament and was lost in the fire that destroyed that building. The standard of length commonly referenced by scientists in England today is the one held by the Astronomical Society of London.
9. A standard of length being established, the artifices for applying it, and for subdividing it in the most accurate manner, are nearly the same as in the case of measures of arcs: as for instance, the employment of the visual rays of microscopes instead of the legs of compasses and the edges of rules; the use of micrometers for minute measurements; and the like. Many different modes of avoiding errour in such measurements have been devised by various observers, according to the nature of the cases with which they had to deal4.
9. Once a standard length is established, the methods for applying it and breaking it down accurately are almost the same as with measuring arcs: for example, using the visual rays of microscopes instead of compass legs and straightedges; utilizing micrometers for tiny measurements; and so on. Various techniques to avoid errors in these measurements have been developed by different observers, depending on the specific situations they encountered.4
10. (III.) Measurement of Time.—The methods of measuring Time are not so obvious as the methods of 151 measuring space; for we cannot apply one portion of time to another, so as to test their equality. We are obliged to begin by assuming some change as the measure of time. Thus the motion of the sun in the sky, or the length and position of the shadows of objects, were the first modes of measuring the parts of the day. But what assurance had men, or what assurance could they have, that the motion of the sun or of the shadow was uniform? They could have no such assurance, till they had adopted some measure of smaller times; which smaller times, making up larger times by repetition, they took as the standard of uniformity;—for example, an hour-glass, or a clepsydra which answered the same purpose among the ancients. There is no apparent reason why the successive periods measured by the emptying of the hour-glass should be unequal; they are implicitly accepted as equal; and by reference to these, the uniformity of the sun’s motion may be verified. But the great improvement in the measurement of time was the use of a pendulum for the purpose by Galileo, and the application of this device to clocks by Huyghens in 1656. For the successive oscillations of a pendulum are rigorously equal, and a clock is only a train of machinery employed for the purpose of counting these oscillations. By means of this invention, the measure of time in astronomical observations became as accurate as the measure of space.
10. (III.) Measurement of Time.—The ways we measure time aren’t as straightforward as measuring space; we can’t directly compare one period of time to another to see if they’re equal. We have to start by identifying some change as a way to measure time. For instance, the sun’s movement in the sky or the length and position of shadows were the first methods of dividing up the day. But how could people know, or have any guarantee, that the sun’s movement or the shadows were consistent? They could only be sure of this after establishing a way to measure smaller intervals of time; these smaller intervals, when repeated to form larger ones, became their standard for consistency—like an hourglass or a clepsydra used in ancient times. There’s no obvious reason why the time periods measured by the hourglass should be different; they’re generally accepted as equal, and it’s by these that we can confirm the regularity of the sun’s movement. The major breakthrough in measuring time came with Galileo’s use of the pendulum, which was then applied to clocks by Huyghens in 1656. The successive swings of a pendulum are exactly equal, and a clock is essentially a machine designed to count these swings. With this invention, time measurement in astronomy became just as accurate as measuring space.
11. What is the natural unit of time? It was assumed from the first by the Greek astronomers, that the sidereal days, measured by the revolution of a star from any meridian to the same meridian again, are exactly equal; and all improvements in the measure of time tended to confirm this assumption. The sidereal day is therefore the natural standard of time. But the solar day, determined by the diurnal revolution of the sun, although not rigorously invariable, as the sidereal day is, undergoes scarcely any perceptible variation; and since the course of daily occurrences is regulated by the sun, it is far more convenient to seek the basis of our unit of time in his motions. Accordingly the solar day (the mean solar day) is divided into 24 hours, 152 and these, into minutes and seconds; and this is our scale of time. Of such time, the sidereal day has 23 hours 56 minutes 4·09 seconds. And it is plain that by such a statement the length of the hour is fixed, with reference to a sidereal day. The standard of time (and the standard of space in like manner) equally answers its purpose, whether or not it coincides with any whole number of units.
11. What is the natural unit of time? From the beginning, Greek astronomers assumed that sidereal days, which are measured by a star's revolution from one meridian to the same meridian again, are exactly equal; and all improvements in measuring time supported this assumption. The sidereal day is, therefore, the natural standard of time. However, the solar day—determined by the sun's daily revolution—though not completely consistent like the sidereal day, shows almost no noticeable variation; and since daily activities are governed by the sun, it's much more practical to base our unit of time on his movements. Thus, the solar day (the mean solar day) is divided into 24 hours, 152 and those hours are further divided into minutes and seconds; and this is our measure of time. A sidereal day lasts 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 4.09 seconds. It's clear that this definition sets the length of the hour in relation to a sidereal day. The standard of time (and similarly the standard of space) effectively serves its purpose, whether or not it aligns with any whole number of units.
12. Since the sidereal day is thus the standard of our measures of time, it becomes desirable to refer to it, constantly and exactly, the instruments by which time is measured, in order that we may secure ourselves against errour. For this purpose, in astronomical observatories, observations are constantly made of the transit of stars across the meridian; the transit instrument with which this is done being adjusted with all imaginable regard to accuracy5.
12. Since the sidereal day is the standard for our measurements of time, it's essential to refer to it consistently and accurately with the instruments we use to measure time, so we can avoid mistakes. For this reason, astronomical observatories regularly observe the transit of stars across the meridian; the transit instrument used for this is calibrated with utmost precision5.
13. When exact measures of time are required in other than astronomical observations, the same instruments are still used, namely, clocks and chronometers. In chronometers, the regulating part is an oscillating body; not, as in clocks, a pendulum oscillating by the force of gravity, but a wheel swinging to and fro on its center, in consequence of the vibrations of a slender coil of elastic wire. To divide time into still smaller portions than these vibrations, other artifices are used; some of which will be mentioned under the next head.
13. When precise measurements of time are needed outside of astronomical observations, the same devices are still used, specifically clocks and chronometers. In chronometers, the regulating component is an oscillating body; unlike clocks, which use a pendulum that swings due to gravity, it has a wheel that moves back and forth around its center, thanks to the vibrations of a thin coil of elastic wire. To break time down into even smaller increments than these vibrations, other techniques are employed; some of these will be discussed in the next section.
14. (IV.) Conversion of Space and Time.—Space and time agree in being extended quantities, which are made up and measured by the repetition of homogeneous parts. If a body move uniformly, whether in the way of revolving or otherwise, the space which any point describes, is proportional to the time of its motion; and the space and the time may each be taken as a measure of the other. Hence in such cases, by taking space instead of time, or time instead of 153 space, we may often obtain more convenient and precise measures, than we can by measuring directly the element with which we are concerned.
14. (IV.) Conversion of Space and Time.—Space and time are both continuous quantities that can be divided and measured by repeating equal parts. If an object moves at a constant speed, whether in a circular motion or another type, the distance it covers is proportional to the duration of its movement; thus, both distance and duration can serve as measurements for each other. Therefore, in such situations, using distance as a substitute for time or time as a substitute for distance can often yield more practical and accurate measurements than directly measuring the specific quantity we are focused on.
The most prominent example of such a conversion, is the measurement of the Right Ascension of stars, (that is, their angular distance from a standard meridian6 on the celestial sphere,) by means of the time employed in their coming to the meridian of the place of observation. Since, as we have already stated, the visible celestial sphere, carrying the fixed stars, revolves with perfect uniformity about the pole; if we observe the stars as they come in succession to a fixed circle passing through the poles, the intervals of time between these observations will be proportional to the angles which the meridian circles passing through these stars make at the poles where they meet; and hence, if we have the means of measuring time with great accuracy, we can, by watching the times of the transits of successive stars across some visible mark in our own meridian, determine the angular distances of the meridian circles of all the stars from one another.
The most notable example of this conversion is measuring the Right Ascension of stars, which is their angular distance from a standard meridian6 on the celestial sphere, using the time it takes for them to reach the meridian of the observation point. As mentioned earlier, the visible celestial sphere, which carries the fixed stars, rotates uniformly around the pole. If we observe the stars as they successively cross a fixed circle that goes through the poles, the time intervals between these observations will be proportional to the angles that the meridian circles, which pass through these stars, form at the poles where they intersect. Therefore, if we can measure time very accurately, we can determine the angular distances of the meridian circles of all the stars from each other by tracking the times of transits of successive stars across some visible mark on our own meridian.
Accordingly, now that the pendulum clock affords astronomers the means of determining time exactly, a measurement of the Right Ascensions of heavenly bodies by means of a clock and a transit instrument, is a part of the regular business of an observatory. If the sidereal clock be so adjusted that it marks the beginning of its scale of time when the first point of Right Ascension is upon the visible meridian of our observatory, the point of the scale at which the clock points when any other star is in our meridian, will truly represent the Right Ascension of the star.
Accordingly, now that the pendulum clock gives astronomers the ability to measure time accurately, recording the Right Ascensions of celestial bodies using a clock and a transit instrument has become a standard practice at an observatory. If the sidereal clock is set up to indicate the start of its time scale when the first point of Right Ascension is on the visible meridian of our observatory, the point on the scale that the clock shows when any other star is on our meridian will accurately indicate the Right Ascension of that star.
Thus as the motion of the stars is our measure of time, we employ time, conversely, as our measure of the places of the stars. The celestial machine and our terrestrial machines correspond to each other in their movements; and the star steals silently and steadily 154 across our meridian line, just as the pointer of the clock steals past the mark of the hour. We may judge of the scale of this motion by considering that the full moon employs about two minutes of time in sailing across any fixed line seen against the sky, transverse to her path: and all the celestial bodies, carried along by the revolving sphere, travel at the same rate.
So, just as the movement of the stars is how we measure time, we use time to measure the positions of the stars. The movements of the celestial and earthly mechanisms reflect each other; the star moves quietly and steadily across our meridian line, similar to how the clock’s hand moves past the hour mark. We can understand the scale of this motion by noting that the full moon takes about two minutes to cross any fixed line visible in the sky, which is perpendicular to her path: and all celestial bodies move at the same speed, carried along by the spinning sphere. 154
15. In this case, up to a certain degree, we render our measures of astronomical angles more exact and convenient by substituting time for space; but when, in the very same kind of observation, we wish to proceed to a greater degree of accuracy, we find that it is best done by substituting space for time. In observing the transit of a star across the meridian, if we have the clock within hearing, we can count the beats of the pendulum by the noise which they make, and tell exactly at which second of time the passage of the star across the visible thread takes place; and thus we measure Right Ascension by means of time. But our perception of time does not allow us to divide a second into ten parts, and to pronounce whether the transit takes place three-tenths, six-tenths, or seven-tenths of a second after the preceding beat of the clock. This, however, can be done by the usual mode of observing the transit of a star. The observer, listening to the beat of his clock, fastens his attention upon the star at each beat, and especially at the one immediately before and the one immediately after the passage of the thread: and by this means he has these two positions and the position of the thread so far present to his intuition at once, that he can judge in what proportion the thread is nearer to one position than the other, and can thus divide the intervening second in its due proportion. Thus if he observe that at the beginning of the second the star is on one side of the thread, and at the end of the second on the other side; and that the two distances from the thread are as two to three, he knows that the transit took place at two-fifths (or four-tenths) of a second after the former beat. In this way a second of time in astronomical observations may, by a skilful observer, be divided into ten equal 155 parts; although when time is observed as time, a tenth of a second appears almost to escape our senses. From the above explanation, it will be seen that the reason why the subdivision is possible in the way thus described, is this:—that the moment of time thus to be divided is so small, that the eye and the mind can retain, to the end of this moment, the impression of position which it received at the beginning. Though the two positions of the star, and the intermediate thread, are seen successively, they can be contemplated by the mind as if they were seen simultaneously: and thus it is precisely the smallness of this portion of time which enables us to subdivide it by means of space.
15. In this situation, to some extent, we make our measurements of astronomical angles more precise and convenient by using time instead of space; however, when we want to achieve a higher level of accuracy in the same type of observation, we find that switching from time to space is more effective. When observing the transit of a star across the meridian, if we can hear the clock, we can count the pendulum's beats by the sound it makes and precisely determine the exact second the star crosses the visible line; thus, we measure Right Ascension using time. But our perception of time doesn't let us divide a second into ten parts and specify if the transit happens three-tenths, six-tenths, or seven-tenths of a second after the previous clock beat. This can, however, be done by the conventional method of observing the transit of a star. The observer listens to the clock's beat, focusing on the star with each beat, especially the one right before and the one right after the passage of the line: this way, he can simultaneously hold in mind these two moments and the position of the line, allowing him to judge how much closer the line is to one position than the other, and thus proportion the second accordingly. For instance, if he observes that at the beginning of the second, the star is on one side of the line, and at the end, it is on the opposite side, with the two distances from the line being in a two-to-three ratio, he knows that the transit occurred at two-fifths (or four-tenths) of a second after the previous beat. In this manner, a skilled observer can divide a second of time in astronomical observations into ten equal parts; while when measuring time as time, a tenth of a second seems almost imperceptible. From the explanation above, it's clear that the reason this kind of subdivision is possible is that the time frame being divided is so brief that both the eye and the mind can retain the positional impression received at the start. Although the two positions of the star and the line are seen one after another, they can be perceived by the mind as if they were seen at the same time: thus, it is precisely the briefness of this time segment that allows us to subdivide it using space.
16. There is another case, of somewhat a different kind, in which time is employed in measuring space; namely, when space, or the standard of space, is defined by the length of a pendulum oscillating in a given time. We might in this way define any space by the time which a pendulum of such a length would take in oscillating; and thus we might speak, as was observed by those who suggested this device, of five minutes of cloth, or a rope half an hour long. We may observe, however, that in this case, the space is not proportional to the time. And we may add, that though we thus appear to avoid the arbitrary standard of space (for as we have seen, the standard of measures of time is a natural one,) we do not do so in fact: for we assume the invariableness of gravity, which really varies (though very slightly,) from place to place.
16. There's another situation, which is somewhat different, where time is used to measure space; specifically, when space, or the standard of space, is defined by the length of a pendulum swinging over a certain time period. We could define any space by the time it takes for a pendulum of that length to swing, so we might refer to things like five minutes of fabric or a rope that’s half an hour long. However, it's important to note that in this case, the space is not proportional to the time. Additionally, while it seems like we’re avoiding an arbitrary standard of space (since, as we’ve seen, the standard for measuring time is natural), we aren’t really doing that: we’re assuming that gravity is constant, which it actually varies (albeit very slightly) from one place to another.
17. (V.) The Method of Repetition in Measurement.—In many cases we can give great additional accuracy to our measurements by repeatedly adding to itself the quantity which we wish to measure. Thus if we wished to ascertain the exact breadth of a thread, it might not be easy to determine whether it was one-ninetieth, or one-ninety-fifth, or one-hundredth part of an inch; but if we find that ninety-six such threads placed side by side occupy exactly an inch, we have the precise measure of the breadth of the thread. In 156 the same manner, if two clocks are going nearly at the same rate, we may not be able to distinguish the excess of an oscillation of one of the pendulums over an oscillation of the other: but when the two clocks have gone for an hour, one of them may have gained ten seconds upon the other; thus showing that the proportion of their times of oscillation is 3610 to 3600.
17. (V.) The Method of Repetition in Measurement.—In many cases, we can significantly improve the accuracy of our measurements by repeatedly adding the quantity we want to measure. For example, if we need to find the exact width of a thread, it might be tricky to determine whether it is one-ninetieth, one-ninety-fifth, or one-hundredth of an inch; however, if we discover that ninety-six such threads placed side by side cover exactly one inch, we have the precise measurement of the thread's width. Similarly, if two clocks are running at nearly the same speed, we might not be able to notice the difference in the oscillation of one pendulum compared to the other: but after running for an hour, one clock might have gained ten seconds on the other, indicating that the ratio of their oscillation times is 3610 to 3600.
In the latter of these instances, we have the principle of repetition truly exemplified, because (as has been justly observed by Sir J. Herschel7,) there is then ‘a juxtaposition of units without errour,’—‘one vibration commences exactly where the last terminates, no part of time being lost or gained in the addition of the units so counted.’ In space, this juxtaposition of units without errour cannot be rigorously accomplished, since the units must be added together by material contact (as in the above case of the threads,) or in some equivalent manner. Yet the principle of repetition has been applied to angular measurement with considerable success in Borda’s Repeating Circle. In this instrument, the angle between two objects which we have to observe, is repeated along the graduated limb of the circle by turning the telescope from one object to the other, alternately fastened to the circle (by its clamp) and loose from it (by unclamping). In this manner the errours of graduation may (theoretically) be entirely got rid of: for if an angle repeated nine times be found to go twice round the circle, it must be exactly eighty degrees: and where the repetition does not give an exact number of circumferences, it may still be made to subdivide the errour to any required extent.
In the latter case, we see the principle of repetition well illustrated because (as Sir J. Herschel has rightly pointed out, 7) there is ‘a juxtaposition of units without error,’—‘one vibration starts exactly where the last one ends, with no time lost or gained in adding the counted units.’ In space, this juxtaposition of units without error can't be perfectly achieved, since the units must be combined through physical contact (like in the example with the threads) or some equivalent method. However, the principle of repetition has been successfully applied to angular measurement in Borda’s Repeating Circle. In this instrument, the angle between two objects we need to observe is repeated along the marked scale of the circle by alternating the telescope from one object to the other, sometimes attached to the circle (by its clamp) and sometimes not (by unclamping). This way, the errors in graduation could (in theory) be completely eliminated: if an angle repeated nine times is found to go around the circle twice, it must be exactly eighty degrees; and where the repetition does not yield an exact number of circumferences, it can still be adjusted to reduce the error to any desired level.
18. Connected with the principle of repetition, is the Method of coincidences or interferences. If we have two Scales, on one of which an inch is divided into 10, and on the other into 11 equal parts; and if, these Scales being placed side by side, it appear that the beginning of the latter Scale is between the 2nd and 3rd division of the former, it may not be apparent 157 what fraction added to 2 determines the place of beginning of the second Scale as measured on the first. But if it appear also that the 3rd division of the second Scale coincides with a certain division of the first, (the 5th,) it is certain that 2 and three-tenths is the exact place of the beginning of the second Scale, measured on the first Scale. The 3rd division of the 11 Scale will coincide (or interfere with) a division of the 10 Scale, when the beginning or zero of the 11 divisions is three-tenths of a division beyond the preceding line of the 10 Scale; as will be plain on a little consideration. And if we have two Scales of equal units, in which each unit is divided into nearly, but not quite, the same number of equal parts (as 10 and 11, 19 and 20, 29 and 30,) and one sliding on the other, it will always happen that some one or other of the division lines will coincide, or very nearly coincide; and thus the exact position of the beginning of one unit, measured on the other scale, is determined. A sliding scale, thus divided for the purpose of subdividing the units of that on which it slides, is called a Vernier, from the name of its inventor.
18. Related to the principle of repetition is the Method of coincidences or interferences. If we have two scales, one where an inch is divided into 10 parts and the other into 11 equal parts, and if these scales are placed side by side, it may not be clear what fraction added to 2 indicates the starting point of the second scale as measured on the first. However, if it also turns out that the 3rd division of the second scale coincides with a specific division of the first (the 5th), then we know for sure that 2 and three-tenths is the exact starting point of the second scale, measured on the first scale. The 3rd division of the 11-scale will coincide (or interfere) with a division of the 10 scale when the starting point or zero of the 11 divisions is three-tenths of a division beyond the previous line of the 10 scale; this will be clear with a bit of thought. Additionally, if we have two scales with equal units, each unit divided into nearly, but not quite, the same number of equal parts (like 10 and 11, 19 and 20, 29 and 30), and one slides over the other, it will always happen that one of the division lines will coincide, or nearly coincide; thus, the exact position of the beginning of one unit, as measured on the other scale, is determined. A sliding scale, designed for the purpose of subdividing the units of the scale it slides on, is called a Vernier, named after its inventor.
19. The same Principle of Coincidence or Interference is applied to the exact measurement of the length of time occupied in the oscillation of a pendulum. If a detached pendulum, of such a length as to swing in little less than a second, be placed before the seconds’ pendulum of a clock, and if the two pendulums begin to move together, the former will gain upon the latter, and in a little while their motions will be quite discordant. But if we go on watching, we shall find them, after a time, to agree again exactly; namely, when the detached pendulum has gained one complete oscillation (back and forwards,) upon the clock pendulum, and again coincides with it in its motion. If this happen after 5 minutes, we know that the times of oscillation of the two pendulums are in the proportion of 300 to 302, and therefore the detached pendulum oscillates in 150⁄151 of a second. The accuracy which can be obtained in the measure of an oscillation by this means is great; for the clock can be compared (by 158 observing transits of the stars or otherwise) with the natural standard of time, the sidereal day. And the moment of coincidence of the two pendulums may, by proper arrangements, be very exactly determined.
19. The same principle of coincidence or interference is used to accurately measure how long it takes for a pendulum to oscillate. If a separate pendulum, with a length that allows it to swing in just under a second, is placed next to the clock's seconds pendulum, and if both pendulums start moving together, the first one will start to pull ahead of the second, and soon their motions will become quite out of sync. However, if we continue to observe, we'll notice that after a while, they will align again perfectly; specifically, when the separate pendulum has completed one full oscillation (back and forth) compared to the clock pendulum and moves in sync with it again. If this alignment occurs after 5 minutes, we can conclude that the oscillation times of the two pendulums are in the ratio of 300 to 302, meaning that the separate pendulum oscillates in 150⁄151 of a second. The precision of measuring an oscillation through this method is significant; the clock can be compared (by 158 observing star transits or other methods) with the natural time standard, the sidereal day. Additionally, the moment when the two pendulums coincide can be very accurately determined with the right setup.
We have hitherto spoken of methods of measuring time and space, but other elements also may be very precisely measured by various means.
We have so far discussed ways to measure time and space, but other factors can also be measured very accurately using different methods.
20. (VI.) Measurement of Weight.—Weight, like space and time, is a quantity made up by addition of parts, and may be measured by similar methods. The principle of repetition is applicable to the measurement of weight; for if two bodies be simultaneously put in the same pan of a balance, and if they balance pieces in the other pan, their weights are exactly added.
20. (VI.) Measurement of Weight.—Weight, similar to space and time, is a quantity formed by adding up parts, and can be measured using similar techniques. The principle of repetition applies to weighing; if two objects are placed in the same pan of a balance at the same time, and they balance against pieces in the other pan, their weights are perfectly combined.
There may be difficulties of practiced workmanship in carrying into effect the mathematical conditions of a perfect balance; for example, in securing an exact equality of the effective arms of the beam in all positions. These difficulties are evaded by the Method of double weighing; according to which the standard weights, and the body which is to be weighed, are successively put in the same pan, and made to balance by a third body in the opposite scale. By this means the different lengths of the arms of the beam, and other imperfections of the balance, become of no consequence8.
There may be challenges with skilled craftsmanship in implementing the mathematical requirements for a perfect balance; for instance, in ensuring that the effective lengths of the beam arms are equal in all positions. These challenges are avoided by the Method of double weighing; where the standard weights and the item to be weighed are placed alternately in the same pan, and a third object is used to balance them in the other pan. This way, variations in the lengths of the beam arms and other flaws in the balance don't matter. 8.
21. There is no natural Standard of weight. The conventional weight taken as the standard, is the weight of a given bulk of some known substance; for instance, a cubic foot of water. But in order that this may be definite, the water must not contain any portion of heterogeneous substance: hence it is required that the water be distilled water.
21. There is no natural Standard of weight. The conventional weight considered as the standard is the weight of a specific volume of a known substance; for example, a cubic foot of water. However, to make this definition clear, the water must not have any impurities: therefore, it is necessary for the water to be distilled water.
22. (VII.) Measurement of Secondary Qualities.—We have already seen9 that secondary qualities are estimated by means of conventional Scales, which refer 159 them to space, number, or some other definite expression. Thus the Thermometer measures heat; the Musical Scale, with or without the aid of number, expresses the pitch of a note; and we may have an exact and complete Scale of Colours, pure and impure. We may remark, however, that with regard to sound and colour, the estimates of the ear and the eye are not superseded, but only assisted: for if we determine what a note is, by comparing it with an instrument known to be in tune, we still leave the ear to decide when the note is in unison with one of the notes of the instrument. And when we compare a colour with our chromatometer, we judge by the eye which division of the chromatometer it matches. Colour and sound have their Natural Scales, which the eye and ear habitually apply; what science requires is, that those scales should be systematized. We have seen that several conditions are requisite in such scales of qualities: the observer’s skill and ingenuity are mainly shown in devising such scales and methods of applying them.
22. (VII.) Measurement of Secondary Qualities.—We have already seen9 that secondary qualities are assessed using standard Scales, which relate them to space, number, or some other definite expression. For example, a thermometer measures heat; the musical scale, with or without numbers, indicates the pitch of a note; and we can have a precise and complete scale of colors, both pure and impure. However, it’s important to note that regarding sound and color, the assessments made by the ear and the eye are not replaced, but rather supported: when we determine what a note is by comparing it to an instrument that is known to be in tune, we still rely on the ear to decide when the note is in unison with one of the notes of the instrument. And when we compare a color with our chromatometer, we judge by sight which section of the chromatometer it matches. Color and sound have their natural scales, which the eye and ear routinely use; what science requires is for those scales to be organized. We have noted that several conditions are necessary for such scales of qualities: the observer’s skill and creativity are primarily demonstrated in creating these scales and methods for applying them.
23. The Method of Coincidences is employed in harmonics: for if two notes are nearly, but not quite, in unison, the coincidences of the vibrations produce an audible undulation in the note, which is called the howl; and the exactness of the unison is known by this howl vanishing.
23. The Method of Coincidences is used in harmonics: if two notes are almost, but not exactly, in unison, the overlapping vibrations create an audible wobble in the sound, referred to as the howl; and the precision of the unison is recognized when this howl disappears.
24. (VIII.) Manipulation.—The process of applying practically methods of experiment and observation, is termed Manipulation; and the value of observations depends much upon the proficiency of the observer in this art. This skill appears, as we have said, not only in devising means and modes in measuring results, but also in inventing and executing arrangements by which elements are subjected to such conditions as the investigation requires: in finding and using some material combination by which nature shall be asked the question which we have in our minds. To do this in any subject may be considered as a peculiar Art, but especially in Chemistry; where ‘many experiments, and even whole trains of research, are 160 essentially dependent for success on mere manipulation10.’ The changes which the chemist has to study,—compositions, decompositions, and mutual actions, affecting the internal structure rather than the external form and motion of bodies,—are not familiarly recognized by common observers, as those actions are which operate upon the total mass of a body: and hence it is only when the chemist has become, to a certain degree, familiar with his science, that he has the power of observing. He must learn to interpret the effects of mixture, heat, and other Chemical agencies, so as to see in them those facts which chemistry makes the basis of her doctrines. And in learning to interpret this language, he must also learn to call it forth;—to place bodies under the requisite conditions, by the apparatus of his own laboratory and the operations of his own fingers. To do this with readiness and precision, is, as we have said, an Art, both of the mind and of the hand, in no small degree recondite and difficult. A person may be well acquainted with all the doctrines of chemistry, and may yet fail in the simplest experiment. How many precautions and observances, what resource and invention, what delicacy and vigilance, are requisite in Chemical Manipulation, may be seen by reference to Dr. Faraday’s work on that subject.
24. (VIII.) Manipulation.—The process of practically applying methods of experimentation and observation is called Manipulation; and the value of observations relies heavily on the observer's skill in this area. This ability appears not only in creating ways to measure results but also in inventing and carrying out arrangements that subject elements to the conditions required for investigation: in finding and using some material combination to pose the questions we have in mind to nature. Doing this in any subject can be seen as a unique Art, especially in Chemistry, where many experiments, and even entire research projects, depend on mere manipulation. The changes that chemists study—compositions, decompositions, and mutual actions affecting the internal structure rather than the external form and motion of substances—are not easily recognized by lay observers, unlike those actions that affect the total mass of a body. Thus, it is only when a chemist becomes somewhat familiar with the science that he gains the ability to observe effectively. He must learn to interpret the effects of mixtures, heat, and other chemical factors to see the facts that form the foundation of chemistry's principles. In learning to interpret this language, he must also learn to bring it forth—placing substances under the necessary conditions with the tools of his laboratory and the operations of his hands. To do this with ease and accuracy is, as mentioned, an Art, both of the mind and of the hand, quite intricate and challenging. A person may be well-versed in all the principles of chemistry and still struggle with the simplest experiment. The many precautions and practices, as well as the creativity and attention to detail required in Chemical Manipulation, can be observed in Dr. Faraday’s work on the subject.
25. The same qualities in the observer are requisite in some other departments of science; for example, in the researches of Optics: for in these, after the first broad facts have been noticed, the remaining features of the phenomena are both very complex and very minute; and require both ingenuity in the invention of experiments, and a keen scrutiny of their results. We have instances of the application of these qualities in most of the optical experimenters of recent times, and certainly in no one more than Sir David Brewster. Omitting here all notice of his succeeding labours, his Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, published in 1813, is an excellent model of the kind of resource 161 and skill of which we now speak. I may mention as an example of this skill, his mode of determining the refractive power of an irregular fragment of any transparent substance. At first this might appear an impossible problem; for it would seem that a regular and smooth surface are requisite, in order that we may have any measurable refraction. But Sir David Brewster overcame the difficulty by immersing the fragment in a combination of fluids, so mixed, that they had the same refractive power as the specimen. The question, when they had this power, was answered by noticing when the fragment became so transparent that its surface could hardly be seen; for this happened when, the refractive power within and without the fragment being the same, there was no refraction at the surface. And this condition being obtained, the refractive power of the fluid, and therefore of the fragment, was easily ascertained.
25. The same qualities in the observer are needed in some other fields of science; for example, in the studies of Optics. In these studies, after identifying the initial key facts, the remaining details of the phenomena can be quite complex and subtle. They require creativity in designing experiments and careful examination of the results. We see these qualities in most of the optical experimenters of recent times, particularly in Sir David Brewster. Without going into his later work, his Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, published in 1813, is an excellent example of the type of resourcefulness and skill we're discussing. One example of this skill is his method for determining the refractive power of an irregular fragment of any transparent material. At first glance, this might seem impossible because it appears that a regular and smooth surface is needed to measure refraction. However, Sir David Brewster solved this problem by immersing the fragment in a mixture of fluids that had the same refractive power as the material in question. The question of when they achieved this balance was answered by observing when the fragment became so transparent that its surface was barely visible; this occurred when the refractive power inside and outside the fragment was the same, resulting in no refraction at the surface. Once this condition was met, the refractive power of the fluid, and therefore of the fragment, was easily determined.
26. (IX.) The Education of the Senses.—Colour and Musical Tone are, as we have seen, determined by means of the Senses, whether or not Systematical Scales are used in expressing the observed fact. Systematical Scales of sensible qualities, however, not only give precision to the record, but to the observation. But for this purpose such an Education of the Senses is requisite as may enable us to apply the scale immediately. The memory must retain the sensation or perception to which the technical term or degree of the scale refers. Thus with regard to colour, as we have said already11, when we find such terms as tin-white or pinchbeck-brown, the metallic colour so denoted ought to occur at once to our recollection without delay or search. The observer’s senses, therefore, must be educated, at first by an actual exhibition of the standard, and afterwards by a familiar use of it, to understand readily and clearly each phrase and degree of the scales which in his observations he has to apply. This is not only the best, but in many cases the only way in which the observation can be expressed. Thus glassy lustre, fatty lustre, adamantine lustre, denote certain kinds of 162 shining in minerals, which appearances we should endeavour in vain to describe by periphrasis; and which the terms, if considered as terms in common language, would by no means clearly discriminate: for who, in common language, would say that coal has a fatty lustre? But these terms, in their conventional sense, are perfectly definite; and when the eye is once familiarized with this application of them, are easily and clearly intelligible.
26. (IX.) The Education of the Senses.—Color and musical tone are, as we've seen, determined through our senses, regardless of whether systematic scales are used to express the observation. However, systematic scales of sensory qualities not only add precision to the record but also to the observation itself. For this purpose, a proper education of the senses is needed to help us apply the scale immediately. Our memory must hold onto the sensation or perception that corresponds to the technical term or degree of the scale. Thus, regarding color, as we've mentioned before, when we come across terms like tin-white or pinchbeck-brown, the metallic color these describe should come to mind instantly without hesitation or searching. Therefore, the observer's senses must be trained, first through actual demonstrations of the standard, and then through frequent use of it, to easily and clearly understand each term and degree of the scales they need for their observations. This isn’t just the best method, but often the only way to express the observation accurately. Terms like glassy lustre, fatty lustre, and adamantine lustre refer to specific types of 162 shine in minerals, which we would struggle to describe with circumlocution; and these terms, if viewed as standard language, wouldn't clearly distinguish between them: who would ordinarily say that coal has a fatty lustre? However, these terms, in their specific use, are perfectly clear; once the eye is accustomed to their application, they are easily and clearly understood.
27. The education of the senses, which is thus requisite in order to understand well the terminology of any science, must be acquired by an inspection of the objects which the science deals with; and is, perhaps, best promoted by the practical study of Natural History. In the different departments of Natural History, the descriptions of species are given by means of an extensive technical terminology: and that education of which we now speak, ought to produce the effect of making the observer as familiar with each of the terms of this terminology as we are with the words of our common language. The technical terms have a much more precise meaning than other terms, since they are defined by express convention, and not learnt by common usage merely. Yet though they are thus defined, not the definition, but the perception itself, is that which the term suggests to the proficient.
27. To really grasp the terminology of any science, it's essential to train our senses through direct observation of the objects related to that science. This is often best achieved through hands-on study of Natural History. In the various fields of Natural History, species descriptions rely on a specialized technical terminology. The kind of training we’re talking about should help the observer become as comfortable with these technical terms as we are with the words of everyday language. These technical terms carry a much more specific meaning than general terms because they are defined by agreed-upon conventions rather than just learned through regular use. However, for skilled practitioners, it’s not just the definition that matters; it's the actual perception that the term evokes.
In order to use the terminology to any good purpose, the student must possess it, not as a dictionary, but as a language. The terminology of his sciences must be the natural historian’s most familiar tongue. He must learn to think in such language. And when this is achieved, the terminology, as I have elsewhere said, though to an uneducated eye cumbrous and pedantical, is felt to be a useful implement, not an oppressive burden12. The impatient schoolboy looks upon his grammar and vocabulary as irksome and burdensome; but the accomplished student who has learnt the language by means of them, knows that they have given him the means of expressing what he thinks, and 163 even of thinking more precisely. And as the study of language thus gives precision to the thoughts, the study of Natural History, and especially of the descriptive part of it, gives precision to the senses.
To make good use of the terminology, a student needs to understand it, not just as a dictionary, but as a language. The terminology of their subjects should be the natural historian’s most familiar dialect. They must learn to think in this language. Once they achieve this, the terminology, as I’ve mentioned before, may seem cumbersome and pretentious to someone uneducated, but it becomes a helpful tool rather than a heavy weight. The impatient schoolboy sees his grammar and vocabulary as annoying and burdensome; however, the skilled student who has mastered the language through them understands that they provide the means to express what they think and even to think more accurately. Just as studying language sharpens thoughts, studying Natural History, especially its descriptive aspects, sharpens the senses.
The Education of the Senses is also greatly promoted by the practical pursuit of any science of experiment and observation, as chemistry or astronomy. The methods of manipulating, of which we have just spoken, in chemistry, and the methods of measuring extremely minute portions of space and time which are employed in astronomy, and which are described in the former part of this chapter, are among the best modes of educating the senses for purposes of scientific observation.
The Education of the Senses is also significantly enhanced by engaging in experimental and observational sciences like chemistry or astronomy. The techniques we just discussed in chemistry, as well as the methods for measuring incredibly small amounts of space and time used in astronomy, which are explained earlier in this chapter, are some of the best ways to train the senses for scientific observation.
28. By the various Methods of precise observation which we have thus very briefly described, facts are collected, of an exact and definite kind; they are then bound together in general laws, by the aid of general ideas and of such methods as we have now to consider. It is true, that the ideas which enable us to combine facts into general propositions, do commonly operate in our minds while we are still engaged in the office of observing. Ideas of one kind or other are requisite to connect our phenomena into facts, and to give meaning to the terms of our descriptions: and it frequently happens, that long before we have collected all the facts which induction requires, the mind catches the suggestion which some of these ideas offer, and leaps forwards to a conjectural law while the labour of observation is yet unfinished. But though this actually occurs, it is easy to see that the process of combining and generalizing facts is, in the order of nature, posterior to, and distinct from, the process of observing facts. Not only is this so, but there is an intermediate step which, though inseparable from all successful generalization, may be distinguished from it in our survey; and may, in some degree, be assisted by peculiar methods. To the consideration of such methods we now proceed.
28. Through the various methods of precise observation that we’ve briefly described, we gather facts that are exact and specific. These facts are then linked together into general laws using general ideas and the methods we will now discuss. It’s true that the ideas which help us connect facts into overall propositions often operate in our minds while we’re still observing. Different kinds of ideas are necessary to tie our phenomena into facts and to give meaning to our descriptions. Often, long before we’ve gathered all the facts needed for induction, our minds pick up suggestions from these ideas and jump ahead to a hypothetical law while the observation process isn’t complete yet. However, while this does happen, it’s clear that the process of combining and generalizing facts comes after and is separate from the observation process. Not only that, but there’s a middle step that, while essential for successful generalization, can be distinguished from it in our analysis and can, to some extent, be supported by specific methods. We will now move on to discussing such methods.
CHAPTER III.
Ways to Gain Clear Scientific Understanding;
and first of Intellectual Education.
Aphorism XXIX.
Aphorism 29.
The Methods by which the acquisition of clear Scientific Ideas is promoted, are mainly two; Intellectual Education and Discussion of Ideas.
The ways to enhance the understanding of clear scientific concepts are mainly two: intellectual education and discussion of ideas.
Aphorism XXX.
Aphorism XXX.
The Idea of Space becomes more clear by studying Geometry; the Idea of Force, by studying Mechanics; the Ideas of Likeness, of Kind, of Subordination of Classes, by studying Natural History.
The concept of space becomes clearer when studying Geometry; the concept of force, when studying Mechanics; the concepts of similarity, type, and class hierarchy, when studying Natural History.
Aphorism XXXI.
Aphorism XXXI.
Elementary Mechanics should now form a part of intellectual education, in order that the student may understand the Theory of Universal Gravitation: for an intellectual education should cultivate such ideas as enable the student to understand the most complete and admirable portions of the knowledge which the human race has attained to.
Elementary Mechanics should now be a part of the educational curriculum so that students can grasp the Theory of Universal Gravitation. An educational experience should foster ideas that help students understand the most comprehensive and remarkable aspects of the knowledge that humanity has achieved.
Aphorism XXXII.
Aphorism 32.
Natural History ought to form a part of intellectual education, in order to correct certain prejudices which arise from cultivating the intellect by means of mathematics alone; and in order to lead the student to see that the division of things into Kinds, and the attribution and use of Names, are processes susceptible of great precision. 165
Natural history should be a part of intellectual education to correct certain biases that come from focusing only on mathematics for learning; and to help students understand that categorizing things and assigning and using names can be done with great accuracy. 165
THE ways in which men become masters of those clear and yet comprehensive conceptions which the formation and reception of science require, are mainly two; which, although we cannot reduce them to any exact scheme, we may still, in a loose use of the term, call Methods of acquiring clear Ideas. These two ways are Education and Discussion.
THE ways in which men become masters of those clear and yet comprehensive concepts that the formation and reception of science require are mainly two; although we can't reduce them to any strict system, we can still loosely call them Methods of acquiring clear Ideas. These two methods are Education and Discussion.
1. (I.) Idea of Space.—It is easily seen that Education may do at least something to render our ideas distinct and precise. To learn Geometry in youth, tends, manifestly, to render our idea of space clear and exact. By such an education, all the relations, and all the consequences of this idea, come to be readily and steadily apprehended; and thus it becomes easy for us to understand portions of science which otherwise we should by no means be able to comprehend. The conception of similar triangles was to be mastered, before the disciples of Thales could see the validity of his method of determining the height of lofty objects by the length of their shadows. The conception of the sphere with its circles had to become familiar, before the annual motion of the sun and its influence upon the lengths of days could be rightly traced. The properties of circles, combined with the pure13 doctrine of motion, were required as an introduction to the theory of Epicycles: the properties of conic sections were needed, as a preparation for the discoveries of Kepler. And not only was it necessary that men should possess a knowledge of certain figures and their properties; but it was equally necessary that they should have the habit of reasoning with perfect steadiness, precision, and conclusiveness concerning the relations of space. No small discipline of the mind is requisite, in most cases, to accustom it to go, with complete insight and security, through the demonstrations respecting intersecting planes and lines, dihedral and trihedral angles, which occur in solid geometry. Yet how absolutely necessary is a perfect mastery of such reasonings, to him who is to explain the motions of the moon in 166 latitude and longitude! How necessary, again, is the same faculty to the student of crystallography! Without mathematical habits of conception and of thinking, these portions of science are perfectly inaccessible. But the early study of plane and solid geometry gives to all tolerably gifted persons, the habits which are thus needed. The discipline of following the reasonings of didactic works on this subject, till we are quite familiar with them, and of devising for ourselves reasonings of the same kind, (as, for instance, the solutions of problems proposed,) soon gives the mind the power of discoursing with perfect facility concerning the most complex and multiplied relations of space, and enables us to refer to the properties of all plane and solid figures as surely as to the visible forms of objects. Thus we have here a signal instance of the efficacy of education in giving to our Conceptions that clearness, which the formation and existence of science indispensably require.
1. (I.) Idea of Space.—It's clear that education can help make our ideas more distinct and precise. Learning geometry as a young person clearly helps clarify and define our understanding of space. Through this education, all the relationships and consequences of this idea become easily and steadily understood; as a result, we can grasp parts of science that we otherwise wouldn't be able to comprehend. The concept of similar triangles had to be mastered before Thales's followers could understand his method for determining the height of tall objects using the length of their shadows. The idea of the sphere with its circles had to become familiar before they could accurately trace the sun's annual motion and its effect on the lengths of days. The properties of circles, combined with the pure13doctrine of motion, were essential as a foundation for the theory of Epicycles, and understanding conic sections was necessary for Kepler’s discoveries. It wasn't just important for individuals to have a knowledge of specific figures and their properties; it was equally important for them to develop the habit of reasoning with complete steadiness, precision, and conclusiveness about the relationships of space. A considerable amount of mental discipline is needed for most people to comfortably and confidently follow the demonstrations about intersecting planes and lines, dihedral and trihedral angles found in solid geometry. But how crucial is this mastery for someone explaining the moon's movements in 166 latitude and longitude! Similarly, this skill is essential for the students of crystallography! Without a mathematical way of thinking and conceptualizing, these parts of science are completely out of reach. However, early study of plane and solid geometry gives reasonably gifted individuals the habits they need. The discipline of following the reasoning in educational materials until we are completely comfortable with them, and creating our own reasoning (like solving proposed problems), quickly equips the mind to discuss effortlessly even the most complex and numerous relationships in space, allowing us to reference the properties of all plane and solid figures as surely as we can recognize the visible forms of objects. Thus, we have a clear example of how education effectively provides the clarity that the development and existence of science require.
2. It is not my intention here to enter into the details of the form which should be given to education, in order that it may answer the purposes now contemplated. But I may make a remark, which the above examples naturally suggest, that in a mathematical education, considered as a preparation for furthering or understanding physical science, Geometry is to be cultivated, far rather than Algebra:—the properties of space are to be studied and reasoned upon as they are in themselves, not as they are replaced and disguised by symbolical representations. It is true, that when the student is become quite familiar with elementary geometry, he may often enable himself to deal in a more rapid and comprehensive manner with the relations of space, by using the language of symbols and the principles of symbolical calculation: but this is an ulterior step, which may be added to, but can never be substituted for, the direct cultivation of geometry. The method of symbolical reasoning employed upon subjects of geometry and mechanics, has certainly achieved some remarkable triumphs in the treatment of the theory of the universe. These successful 167 applications of symbols in the highest problems of physical astronomy appear to have made some teachers of mathematics imagine that it is best to begin the pupil’s course with such symbolical generalities. But this mode of proceeding will be so far from giving the student clear ideas of mathematical relations, that it will involve him in utter confusion, and probably prevent his ever obtaining a firm footing in geometry. To commence mathematics in such a way, would be much as if we should begin the study of a language by reading the highest strains of its lyrical poetry.
2. I'm not going to go into detail about how education should be structured to meet the goals we have in mind. However, I want to point out, based on the examples above, that in a math education meant to support understanding physical science, Geometry should be prioritized over Algebra. We should study and reason about the properties of space as they are, rather than how they are represented through symbols. It's true that once a student is comfortable with basic geometry, they can often handle spatial relationships more quickly and comprehensively by using symbols and symbolic calculations. But this is an advanced step that should come after, not replace, the direct study of geometry. The use of symbolic reasoning in geometry and mechanics has certainly led to impressive advancements in understanding the universe. These successful applications in complex physical astronomy problems seem to have led some math teachers to think it's best to start students with these symbolic concepts. However, this approach can confuse students and likely prevent them from ever fully grasping geometry. Starting math like this would be like trying to learn a language by jumping straight into its most complex poetry.
3. (II.) Idea of Number, &c.—The study of mathematics, as I need hardly observe, developes and renders exact, our conceptions of the relations of number, as well as of space. And although, as we have already noticed, even in their original form the conceptions of number are for the most part very distinct, they may be still further improved by such discipline. In complex cases, a methodical cultivation of the mind in such subjects is needed: for instance, questions concerning Cycles, and Intercalations, and Epacts, and the like, require very great steadiness of arithmetical apprehension in order that the reasoner may deal with them rightly. In the same manner, a mastery of problems belonging to the science of Pure Motion, or, as I have termed it, Mechanism, requires either great natural aptitude in the student, or a mind properly disciplined by suitable branches of mathematical study.
3. (II.) Idea of Number, &c.—The study of mathematics, as I should mention, develops and clarifies our understanding of the relationships between numbers and space. Even though, as we’ve already pointed out, the basic concepts of numbers are mostly clear, they can still be improved through this kind of training. In complex situations, a structured approach to thinking about these topics is necessary: for example, questions about cycles, intercalations, epacts, and similar topics require a high level of numerical understanding so that the thinker can handle them correctly. Similarly, mastering problems related to the field of Pure Motion, or what I’ve called Mechanism, requires either strong natural talent from the student or a mind well-trained in relevant areas of mathematical study.
4. Arithmetic and Geometry have long been standard portions of the education of cultured persons throughout the civilized world; and hence all such persons have been able to accept and comprehend those portions of science which depend upon the idea of space: for instance, the doctrine of the globular form of the earth, with its consequences, such as the measures of latitude and longitude;—the heliocentric system of the universe in modern, or the geocentric in ancient times;—the explanation of the rainbow; and the like. In nations where there is no such education, these portions of science cannot exist as a part of the general stock of the knowledge of society, however intelligently they 168 may be pursued by single philosophers dispersed here and there in the community.
4. Math and Geometry have always been essential subjects for educated people around the world. As a result, these individuals have been able to understand and grasp scientific concepts related to space, such as the idea that the Earth is round and its implications, like latitude and longitude measures; the heliocentric model of the universe in modern times or the geocentric model in ancient times; the explanation of the rainbow; and similar topics. In countries where this kind of education is lacking, these scientific ideas can't become part of the common knowledge of society, no matter how knowledgeable individual philosophers may be in the community. 168
5. (III.) Idea of Force.—As the idea of Space is brought out in its full evidence by the study of Geometry, so the idea of Force is called up and developed by the study of the science of Mechanics. It has already been shown, in our scrutiny of the Ideas of the Mechanical Sciences, that Force, the Cause of motion or of equilibrium, involves an independent Fundamental Idea, and is quite incapable of being resolved into any mere modification of our conceptions of space, time, and motion. And in order that the student may possess this idea in a precise and manifest shape, he must pursue the science of Mechanics in the mode which this view of its nature demands;—that is, he must study it as an independent science, resting on solid elementary principles of its own, and not built upon some other unmechanical science as its substructure. He must trace the truths of Mechanics from their own axioms and definitions; these axioms and definitions being considered as merely means of bringing into play the Idea on which the science depends. The conceptions of force and matter, of action and reaction, of momentum and inertia, with the reasonings in which they are involved, cannot be evaded by any substitution of lines or symbols for the conceptions. Any attempts at such substitution would render the study of Mechanics useless as a preparation of the mind for physical science; and would, indeed, except counteracted by great natural clearness of thought on such subjects, fill the mind with confused and vague notions, quite unavailing for any purposes of sound reasoning. But, on the other hand, the study of Mechanics, in its genuine form, as a branch of education, is fitted to give a most useful and valuable precision of thought on such subjects; and is the more to be recommended, since, in the general habits of most men’s minds, the mechanical conceptions are tainted with far greater obscurity and perplexity than belongs to the conceptions of number, space, and motion.
5. (III.) Idea of Force.—Just as the study of Geometry makes the idea of Space clear and evident, the study of Mechanics brings forth and develops the idea of Force. It has already been demonstrated that, when we examine the Ideas of the Mechanical Sciences, Force, which causes movement or stability, is an independent Fundamental Idea and cannot simply be broken down into a modification of our understanding of space, time, and motion. For the student to grasp this idea clearly, they need to approach the science of Mechanics in a way that aligns with this understanding; that is, they should study it as an independent discipline based on solid foundational principles, not as a subset of another unrelated science. They must follow the principles of Mechanics from their own axioms and definitions, which serve merely to illustrate the Idea on which the science relies. The concepts of force and matter, action and reaction, momentum and inertia, along with the logic surrounding them, can't be bypassed by substituting symbols or lines for these ideas. Any attempts to do so would render the study of Mechanics ineffective as preparation for physical science, and could, unless countered by a clear natural understanding of these topics, lead to confusion and vague ideas that wouldn’t help in sound reasoning. However, studying Mechanics in its true form as part of education provides valuable clarity of thought about these subjects, and is especially beneficial since, for most people, mechanical concepts are often more obscure and complex than those related to numbers, space, and motion.
6. As habitually distinct conceptions of space and 169 motion were requisite for the reception of the doctrines of formal astronomy, (the Ptolemaic and Copernican system,) so a clear and steady conception of force is indispensably necessary for understanding the Newtonian system of physical astronomy. It may be objected that the study of Mechanics as a science has not commonly formed part of a liberal education in Europe, and yet that educated persons have commonly accepted the Newtonian system. But to this we reply, that although most persons of good intellectual culture have professed to assent to the Newtonian system of the universe, yet they have, in fact, entertained it in so vague and perplexed a manner as to show very clearly that a better mental preparation than the usual one is necessary, in order that such persons may really understand the doctrine of universal attraction. I have elsewhere spoken of the prevalent indistinctness of mechanical conceptions14; and need not here dwell upon the indications, constantly occurring in conversation and in literature, of the utter inaccuracy of thought on such subjects which may often be detected; for instance, in the mode in which many men speak of centrifugal and centripetal forces;—of projectile and central forces;—of the effect of the moon upon the waters of the ocean; and the like. The incoherence of ideas which we frequently witness on such points, shows us clearly that, in the minds of a great number of men, well educated according to the present standard, the acceptance of the doctrine of Universal Gravitation is a result of traditional prejudice, not of rational conviction. And those who are Newtonians on such grounds, are not at all more intellectually advanced by being Newtonians in the nineteenth century, than they would have been by being Ptolemaics in the fifteenth.
6. Just as distinct ideas of space and 169 motion were necessary to grasp the teachings of formal astronomy (both the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems), a clear and consistent understanding of force is absolutely essential to comprehending the Newtonian system of physical astronomy. Some may argue that the study of mechanics hasn't traditionally been part of a liberal education in Europe, and yet educated people have generally accepted the Newtonian system. However, we would respond that while many intellectually cultured individuals claim to support the Newtonian system of the universe, they have often understood it in such a vague and confusing way that it’s clear a better mental preparation than what is usually provided is needed for such individuals to genuinely grasp the concept of universal attraction. I have previously addressed the widespread lack of clarity in mechanical concepts 14; and there's no need to elaborate on the frequent signs in conversation and literature that reveal the complete inaccuracy of thought on these topics, which can often be spotted in how many people talk about centrifugal and centripetal forces, projectile and central forces, or the moon's effect on ocean waters, among similar examples. The confusion we frequently observe regarding these concepts clearly indicates that, in the minds of many well-educated individuals by today's standards, accepting the doctrine of Universal Gravitation is more a result of traditional belief than of rational understanding. Those who identify as Newtonians for such reasons are not any more intellectually advanced by being Newtonians in the nineteenth century than they would have been by being Ptolemaics in the fifteenth.
7. It is undoubtedly in the highest degree desirable that all great advances in science should become the common property of all cultivated men. And this can only be done by introducing into the course of a liberal education such studies as unfold and fix in men’s minds 170 the fundamental ideas upon which the new-discovered truths rest. The progress made by the ancients in geography, astronomy, and other sciences, led them to assign, wisely and well, a place to arithmetic and geometry among the steps of an ingenuous education. The discoveries of modern times have rendered these steps still more indispensable; for we cannot consider a man as cultivated up to the standard of his times, if he is not only ignorant of, but incapable of comprehending, the greatest achievements of the human intellect. And as innumerable discoveries of all ages have thus secured to Geometry her place as a part of good education, so the great discoveries of Newton make it proper to introduce Elementary Mechanics as a part of the same course. If the education deserve to be called good, the pupil will not remain ignorant of those discoveries, the most remarkable extensions of the field of human knowledge which have ever occurred. Yet he cannot by possibility comprehend them, except his mind be previously disciplined by mechanical studies. The period appears now to be arrived when we may venture, or rather when we are bound to endeavour, to include a new class of Fundamental Ideas in the elementary discipline of the human intellect. This is indispensable, if we wish to educe the powers which we know that it possesses, and to enrich it with the wealth which lies within its reach15.
7. It's definitely essential that all major advancements in science become accessible to everyone educated. This can only happen by incorporating subjects into a well-rounded education that clarify and establish the core concepts on which newly discovered truths are based. The progress made by ancient civilizations in geography, astronomy, and other sciences wisely highlighted the importance of arithmetic and geometry as crucial parts of a solid education. The discoveries of modern times have made these subjects even more essential; we can't consider someone educated in their time if they are not only unaware of but also unable to understand the greatest achievements of human intellect. Just as countless discoveries throughout history have solidified Geometry's place in quality education, Newton's significant discoveries make it appropriate to include Elementary Mechanics in the same curriculum. If an education is truly considered good, the student won't be ignorant of these remarkable expansions of human knowledge. However, they can only understand them if their mind has been prepared through mechanical studies first. It seems the time has come when we can, or rather must, strive to include a new set of Fundamental Ideas in the basic training of the human mind. This is necessary if we want to develop the potential we know it has and to enrich it with the treasures that are within its grasp15.
8. By the view which is thus presented to us of the nature and objects of intellectual education, we are led to consider the mind of man as undergoing a progress from age to age. By the discoveries which are made, and by the clearness and evidence which, after a time, (not suddenly nor soon,) the truths thus discovered acquire, one portion of knowledge after another becomes elementary; and if we would really secure this progress, and make men share in it, these new portions must be treated as elementary in the constitution of a 171 liberal education. Even in the rudest forms of intelligence, man is immeasurably elevated above the unprogressive brute, for the idea of number is so far developed that he can count his flock or his arrows. But when number is contemplated in a speculative form, he has made a vast additional progress; when he steadily apprehends the relations of space, he has again advanced; when in thought he carries these relations into the vault of the sky, into the expanse of the universe, he reaches a higher intellectual position. And when he carries into these wide regions, not only the relations of space and time, but of cause and effect, of force and reaction, he has again made an intellectual advance; which, wide as it is at first, is accessible to all; and with which all should acquaint themselves, if they really desire to prosecute with energy the ascending path of truth and knowledge which lies before them. This should be an object of exertion to all ingenuous and hopeful minds. For, that exertion is necessary,—that after all possible facilities have been afforded, it is still a matter of toil and struggle to appropriate to ourselves the acquisitions of great discoverers, is not to be denied. Elementary mechanics, like elementary geometry, is a study accessible to all: but like that too, or perhaps more than that, it is a study which requires effort and contention of mind,—a forced steadiness of thought. It is long since one complained of this labour in geometry; and was answered that in that region there is no Royal Road. The same is true of Mechanics, and must be true of all branches of solid education. But we should express the truth more appropriately in our days by saying that there is no Popular Road to these sciences. In the mind, as in the body, strenuous exercise alone can give strength and activity. The art of exact thought can be acquired only by the labour of close thinking.
8. The perspective we have on the nature and goals of intellectual education leads us to see the human mind as progressing over time. Through new discoveries, which eventually become clear and evident (not suddenly or immediately), bits of knowledge gradually become elementary. To truly ensure this progress and involve everyone, these new pieces of knowledge must be treated as fundamental parts of a 171 liberal education. Even at its most basic level, human intelligence significantly surpasses that of unchanging animals, as humans can understand the concept of numbers well enough to count their livestock or arrows. However, when humans think about numbers conceptually, they’ve made a huge additional leap; when they grasp spatial relationships, they’ve progressed further; and when they extend these relationships to the sky and the vast universe, they reach a higher intellectual level. When they incorporate not just space and time, but also cause and effect, force, and reaction into their thinking, they’ve again made an intellectual leap. This knowledge, although initially vast, is accessible to everyone and should be pursued by all who genuinely want to actively climb the path of truth and understanding that lies ahead. This should be a goal for all curious and ambitious minds. It is undeniable that effort is needed—after all possible resources have been provided, it still takes hard work and struggle to grasp what great thinkers have discovered. Basic mechanics, like basic geometry, is open to everyone: but just like that, or maybe even more so, it requires effort and mental determination—a focused consistency of thought. People have long complained about the difficulty of studying geometry and were told there is no Royal Road in that field. The same applies to mechanics and must hold true for all essential areas of education. However, we should state this more accurately today by saying that there is no Popular Road to these sciences. In the mind, just like in the body, only rigorous exercise can build strength and agility. The skill of precise thinking can only be developed through the hard work of deep thinking.
9. (IV.) Chemical Ideas.—We appear then to have arrived at a point of human progress in which a liberal education of the scientific intellect should include, besides arithmetic, elementary geometry and mechanics. 172 The question then occurs to us, whether there are any other Fundamental Ideas, among those belonging to other sciences, which ought also to be made part of such an education;—whether, for example, we should strive to develope in the minds of all cultured men the ideas of polarity, mechanical and chemical, of which we spoke in a former part of this work.
9. (IV.) Chemical Ideas.—It seems we've reached a stage in human progress where a well-rounded education in science should include, in addition to arithmetic, basic geometry and mechanics. 172 This raises the question of whether there are other Fundamental Ideas from different sciences that should also be part of this education; for instance, should we aim to develop the concepts of polarity, both mechanical and chemical, in the minds of all educated individuals, as we discussed earlier in this work?
The views to which we have been conducted by the previous inquiry lead us to reply that it would not be well at present to make chemical Polarities, at any rate, a subject of elementary instruction. For even the most profound and acute philosophers who have speculated upon this subject,—they who are leading the van in the march of discovery,—do not seem yet to have reduced their thoughts on this subject to a consistency, or to have taken hold of this idea of Polarity in a manner quite satisfactory to their own minds. This part of the subject is, therefore, by no means ready to be introduced into a course of general elementary education; for, with a view to such a purpose, nothing less than the most thoroughly luminous and transparent condition of the idea will suffice. Its whole efficacy, as a means and object of disciplinal study, depends upon there being no obscurity, perplexity, or indefiniteness with regard to it, beyond that transient deficiency which at first exists in the learner’s mind, and is to be removed by his studies. The idea of chemical Polarity is not yet in this condition; and therefore is not yet fit for a place in education. Yet since this idea of Polarity is the most general idea which enters into chemistry, and appears to be that which includes almost all the others, it would be unphilosophical, and inconsistent with all sound views of science, to introduce into education some chemical conceptions, and to omit those which depend upon this idea: indeed such a partial adoption of the science could hardly take place without not only omitting, but misrepresenting, a great part of our chemical knowledge. The conclusion to which we are necessarily led, therefore, is this:—that at present chemistry 173 cannot with any advantage, form a portion of the general intellectual education16.
The insights we've gained from the previous inquiry lead us to conclude that it's not a good idea right now to make chemical polarities a topic for basic education. Even the most advanced and insightful philosophers who have pondered this issue—those at the forefront of discovery—haven't managed to clarify their thoughts on this topic, nor have they grasped the concept of polarity in a way that fully satisfies them. This aspect of the topic is therefore not ready to be included in general elementary education; for such a purpose, we need nothing less than a completely clear and straightforward understanding of the idea. Its entire effectiveness as a tool and goal for study hinges on the absence of confusion, complexity, or vagueness related to it, apart from the initial lack of clarity that learners face, which can be addressed through their studies. The concept of chemical polarity has not yet reached this level of clarity, and so it isn't suitable for inclusion in education. However, since the idea of polarity is the most fundamental concept in chemistry and seems to encompass nearly all other concepts, it would be unscientific and contrary to sound educational principles to teach certain chemical ideas while neglecting those based on this concept. In fact, such a limited approach to the subject would likely not only leave out significant parts of our chemical knowledge but also distort much of it. Therefore, the conclusion we must reach is this: chemistry 173 cannot currently be an advantageous part of general intellectual education.16.
10. (V.) Natural-History Ideas.—But there remains still another class of Ideas, with regard to which we may very properly ask whether they may not advantageously form a portion of a liberal education: I mean the Ideas of definite Resemblance and Difference, and of one set of resemblances subordinate to another, which form the bases of the classificatory sciences. These Ideas are developed by the study of the various branches of Natural History, as Botany, and Zoology; and beyond all doubt, those pursuits, if assiduously followed, very materially affect the mental habits. There is this obvious advantage to be looked for from the study of Natural History, considered as a means of intellectual discipline:—that it gives us, in a precise and scientific form, examples of the classing and naming of objects; which operations the use of common language leads us constantly to perform in a loose and inexact way. In the usual habits of our minds and tongues, things are distinguished or brought together, and names are applied, in a manner very indefinite, vacillating, and seemingly capricious: and we may naturally be led to doubt whether such defects can be avoided;—whether exact distinctions of things, and rigorous use of words be possible. Now upon this point we may receive the instruction of Natural History; which proves to us, by the actual performance of the task, that a precise classification and nomenclature are attainable, at least for a mass of objects all of the same kind. Further, we also learn from this study, that there may exist, not only an exact distinction of kinds of things, but a series of distinctions, one set subordinate to another, and the more general including 174 the more special, so as to form a system of classification. All these are valuable lessons. If by the study of Natural History we evolve, in a clear and well defined form, the conceptions of genus, species, and of higher and lower steps of classification, we communicate precision, clearness, and method to the intellect, through a great range of its operations.
10. (V.) Natural-History Ideas.—However, there’s still another category of ideas we should consider as potentially important for a well-rounded education: I’m talking about the ideas of clear resemblance and difference, and of one set of resemblances that are subordinate to another, which serve as the foundation for the classification sciences. These ideas develop through the study of various branches of Natural History, like Botany and Zoology; and it’s clear that pursuing these fields can significantly shape our thinking habits. The study of Natural History offers a clear advantage as a form of intellectual training: it presents us, in a precise and scientific manner, examples of how to classify and name objects; processes that common language often leads us to execute in a vague and inaccurate way. In our everyday thoughts and speech, things tend to be grouped or distinguished with an indefinite, inconsistent, and seemingly random application of names, which makes us question whether we can avoid such flaws—whether we can achieve precise distinctions between things and rigorous use of words. Natural History teaches us on this point; it shows us, through actual practice, that a precise classification and naming system are achievable, at least for a collection of objects of the same category. Furthermore, we learn from this study that there can be not just clear distinctions between types of things, but a hierarchy of distinctions, with one set subordinate to another, and more general categories including more specific ones, creating a classification system. These are all valuable lessons. By studying Natural History, if we develop clear and well-defined concepts of genus, species, and the higher and lower steps of classification, we instill precision, clarity, and method into our thinking across a wide range of activities.
11. It must be observed, that in order to attain the disciplinal benefit which the study of Natural History is fitted to bestow, we must teach the natural not the artificial classifications; or at least the natural as well as the artificial. For it is important for the student to perceive that there are classifications, not merely arbitrary, founded upon some assumed character, but natural, recognized by some discovered character: he ought to see that our classes being collected according to one mark, are confirmed by many marks not originally stated in our scheme; and are thus found to be grouped together, not by a single resemblance, but by a mass of resemblances, indicating a natural affinity. That objects may be collected into such groups, is a highly important lesson, which Natural History alone, pursued as the science of natural classes, can teach.
11. It should be noted that to gain the educational benefits that studying Natural History offers, we need to teach the natural classifications, not just the artificial classifications; or at least both the natural and the artificial. It's crucial for students to understand that some classifications are not just arbitrary and based on an assumed trait, but are natural and recognized by some discovered trait: they should realize that our classes, organized based on one feature, are supported by many other features not initially included in our system; therefore, they are grouped together not by a single similarity, but by a multitude of similarities, indicating a natural connection. The ability to organize objects into such groups is a vital lesson that only Natural History, studied as the science of natural classes, can impart.
12. Natural History has not unfrequently been made a portion of education: and has in some degree produced such effects as we have pointed out. It would appear, however, that its lessons have, for the most part, been very imperfectly learnt or understood by persons of ordinary education: and that there are perverse intellectual habits very commonly prevalent in the cultivated classes, which ought ere now to have been corrected by the general teaching of Natural History. We may detect among speculative men many prejudices respecting the nature and rules of reasoning, which arise from pure mathematics having been so long and so universally the instrument of intellectual cultivation. Pure Mathematics reasons from definitions: whatever term is introduced into her pages, as a circle, or a square, its definition comes along with it: and this definition is supposed to supply all that the reasoner needs to know, respecting the term. 175 If there be any doubt concerning the validity of the conclusion, the doubt is resolved by recurring to the definitions. Hence it has come to pass that in other subjects also, men seek for and demand definitions as the most secure foundation of reasoning. The definition and the term defined are conceived to be so far identical, that in all cases the one may be substituted for the other; and such a substitution is held to be the best mode of detecting fallacies.
12. Natural History has often been included in education and has produced some of the effects we’ve mentioned. However, it seems that most people with a standard education haven't really learned or understood its lessons very well. There are also stubborn intellectual habits commonly found among educated people that should have been corrected by the overall teaching of Natural History by now. Among thoughtful individuals, we can spot many biases about the nature and rules of reasoning, which stem from pure mathematics being the main tool for intellectual development for so long. Pure Mathematics reasons from definitions: whenever a term like circle or square is introduced, its definition comes with it, and this definition is assumed to provide everything the reasoner needs to know about the term. 175 If there's any uncertainty about the validity of the conclusion, that uncertainty is resolved by referring back to the definitions. As a result, in other subjects as well, people look for and demand definitions as the most reliable basis for reasoning. The definition and the term defined are viewed as being so closely linked that in all cases, one can be swapped for the other, and such a substitution is considered the best way to identify fallacies.
13. It has already been shown that even geometry is not founded upon definitions alone: and we shall not here again analyse the fallacy of this belief in the supreme value of definitions. But we may remark that the study of Natural History appears to be the proper remedy for this erroneous habit of thought. For in every department of Natural History the object of our study is kinds of things, not one of which kinds can be rigorously defined, yet all of them are sufficiently definite. In these cases we may indeed give a specific description of one of the kinds, and may call it a definition; but it is clear that such a definition does not contain the essence of the thing. We say17 that the Rose Tribe are ‘Polypetalous dicotyledons, with lateral styles, superior simple ovaria, regular perigynous stamens, exalbuminous definite seeds, and alternate stipulate leaves.’ But no one would say that this was our essential conception of a rose, to be substituted for it in all cases of doubt or obscurity, by way of making our reasonings perfectly clear. Not only so; but as we have already seen18, the definition does not even apply to all the tribe. For the stipulæ are absent in Lowea: the albumen is present in Neillia: the fruit of Spiræa sorbifolia is capsular. If, then, we can possess any certain knowledge in Natural History, (which no cultivator of the subject will doubt,) it is evident that our knowledge cannot depend on the possibility of laying down exact definitions and reasoning from them.
13. It has already been shown that even geometry isn’t based solely on definitions: and we won’t analyze the fallacy of this belief in the ultimate value of definitions again. However, we can note that studying Natural History appears to be the right remedy for this mistaken way of thinking. In every area of Natural History, what we study are kinds of things, none of which can be strictly defined, yet all are quite distinct. In these cases, we can indeed provide a specific description of one type and call it a definition; but it’s clear that such a definition doesn’t capture the essence of the thing. We say17 that the Rose Tribe are ‘Polypetalous dicotyledons, with lateral styles, superior simple ovaries, regular perigynous stamens, exalbuminous definite seeds, and alternate stipulate leaves.’ But no one would claim that this is our essential understanding of a rose, to be used in all cases of doubt or confusion, to make our reasoning perfectly clear. Not only that; but as we have already seen18, the definition doesn’t even apply to all the tribe. For stipules are absent in Lowea: albumen is present in Neillia: the fruit of Spiræa sorbifolia is capsular. If we can have any certain knowledge in Natural History, (which no one studying the subject would doubt,) it’s clear that our understanding can’t rely on the possibility of creating exact definitions and reasoning from them.
14. But it may be asked, if we cannot define a 176 word, or a class of things which a word denotes, how can we distinguish what it does mean from what it does not mean? How can we say that it signifies one thing rather than another, except we declare what is its signification?
14. But one might wonder, if we can’t define a 176 word or a category of things that a word represents, how can we tell what it does mean from what it doesn’t mean? How can we claim that it refers to one thing instead of another unless we state what its meaning is?
The answer to this question involves the general principle of a natural method of classification, which has already been stated19 and need not here be again dwelt on. It has been shown that names of kinds of things (genera) associate them according to total resemblances, not partial characters. The principle which connects a group of objects in natural history is not a definition, but a type. Thus we take as the type of the Rose family, it may be, the common wild rose; all species which resemble this flower more than they resemble any other group of species are also roses, and form one genus. All genera which resemble Roses more than they resemble any other group of genera are of the same family. And thus the Rose family is collected about some one species, which is the type or central point of the group.
The answer to this question involves the general principle of a natural method of classification, which has already been mentioned19 and doesn't need to be repeated here. It has been shown that names of kinds of things (genera) group them based on overall similarities, not just partial traits. The principle that connects a group of objects in natural history is not a definition, but a type. For example, we can take the common wild rose as the type of the Rose family; all species that resemble this flower more than they resemble any other group of species are also roses and belong to one genus. All genera that resemble Roses more than any other group of genera belong to the same family. Thus, the Rose family is centered around one species, which acts as the type or focal point of the group.
In such an arrangement, it may readily be conceived that though the nucleus of each group may cohere firmly together, the outskirts of contiguous groups may approach, and may even be intermingled, so that some species may doubtfully adhere to one group or another. Yet this uncertainty does not at all affect the truths which we find ourselves enabled to assert with regard to the general mass of each group. And thus we are taught that there may be very important differences between two groups of objects, although we are unable to tell where the one group ends and where the other begins; and that there may be propositions of indisputable truth, in which it is impossible to give unexceptionable definitions of the terms employed.
In this setup, it's easy to imagine that even though the core of each group sticks together strongly, the edges of neighboring groups might come close and even blend, causing some species to somewhat belong to one group or the other. However, this uncertainty doesn't impact the facts we can confidently assert about the overall mass of each group. This teaches us that there can be significant differences between two groups of objects, even if we can't clearly define where one group ends and the other begins. It also shows that there can be undeniable truths where we can't provide flawless definitions of the terms used.
15. These lessons are of the highest value with regard to all employments of the human mind; for the mode in which words in common use acquire their meaning, approaches far more nearly to the Method of 177 Type than to the method of definition. The terms which belong to our practical concerns, or to our spontaneous and unscientific speculations, are rarely capable of exact definition. They have been devised in order to express assertions, often very important, yet very vaguely conceived: and the signification of the word is extended, as far as the assertion conveyed by it can be extended, by apparent connexion or by analogy. And thus, in all the attempts of man to grasp at knowledge, we have an exemplification of that which we have stated as the rule of induction, that Definition and Proposition are mutually dependent, each adjusted so as to give value and meaning to the other: and this is so, even when both the elements of truth are defective in precision: the Definition being replaced by an incomplete description or a loose reference to a Type; and the Proposition being in a corresponding degree insecure.
15. These lessons are extremely valuable for any use of the human mind because the way common words gain their meaning is much closer to the Method of 177 Type than to the method of definition. Terms related to our practical issues or our spontaneous, unscientific thoughts are rarely capable of precise definition. They were created to express assertions that are often significant but very vaguely understood: the meaning of the word expands as far as the assertion it conveys can be stretched, through apparent connections or analogies. Thus, in all human attempts to grasp knowledge, we see an example of what we’ve stated as the rule of induction: Definition and Proposition depend on each other, each adjusted to give value and meaning to the other. This is true even when both elements of truth lack precision: the Definition is replaced by an incomplete description or a loose reference to a Type, and the Proposition is similarly insecure.
16. Thus the study of Natural History, as a corrective of the belief that definitions are essential to substantial truth, might be of great use; and the advantage which might thus be obtained is such as well entitles this study to a place in a liberal education. We may further observe, that in order that Natural History may produce such an effect, it must be studied by inspection of the objects themselves, and not by the reading of books only. Its lesson is, that we must in all cases of doubt or obscurity refer, not to words or definitions, but to things. The Book of Nature is its dictionary: it is there that the natural historian looks, to find the meaning of the words which he uses20. So 178 long as a plant, in its most essential parts, is more like a rose than any thing else, it is a rose. He knows no other definition.
16. So, the study of Natural History, as a way to challenge the idea that definitions are key to real truth, can be very valuable; the benefits gained from it definitely justify its inclusion in a well-rounded education. Additionally, to ensure that Natural History has such an impact, it must be explored through direct observation of the objects themselves, rather than just through reading. Its main lesson is that in times of doubt or confusion, we should refer to actual things, not just words or definitions. The Book of Nature serves as its dictionary; it's where the natural historian turns to understand the meanings of the words they use. A TAG PLACEHOLDER 0. As long as a plant, in its most essential aspects, resembles a rose more than anything else, it is a rose. That's the only definition they know.
17. (VI.) Well-established Ideas alone to be used.—We may assert in general what we have elsewhere, as above, stated specially with reference to the fundamental principles of chemistry:—no Ideas are suited to become the elements of elementary education, till they have not only become perfectly distinct and fixed in the minds of the leading cultivators of the science to which they belong; but till they have been so for some considerable period. The entire clearness and steadiness of view which is essential to sound science, must have time to extend itself to a wide circle of disciples. The views and principles which are detected by the most profound and acute philosophers, are soon appropriated by all the most intelligent and active minds of their own and of the following generations; and when this has taken place, (and not till then,) it is right, by a proper constitution of our liberal education, to extend a general knowledge of such principles to all cultivated persons. And it follows, from this view of the matter, that we are by no means to be in haste to adopt, into our course of education, all new discoveries as soon as they are made. They require some time, in order to settle into their proper place and position in men’s minds, and to show themselves under their true aspects; and till this is done, we confuse and disturb, rather than enlighten and unfold, the ideas of learners, by introducing the discoveries into our elementary instruction. Hence it was perhaps reasonable that a century should elapse from the time of Galileo, before the rigorous teaching of Mechanics became a general element of intellectual training; and the doctrine of Universal Gravitation was hardly ripe for such an employment till the end of the last century. We must not direct the unformed youthful mind to launch its little bark upon the waters of speculation, till all the agitation of discovery, with its consequent fluctuation and controversy, has well subsided.
17. (VI.) Well-established Ideas alone to be used.—We can generally say what we've stated before regarding the fundamental principles of chemistry: no concepts are suitable to be part of basic education until they are not only clearly defined and well-established in the minds of the leading experts in their field, but have also remained so for a significant amount of time. The complete clarity and steadiness of understanding essential for sound science need time to reach a broader group of learners. The ideas and principles recognized by the most insightful philosophers are soon adopted by the brightest and most proactive minds of their own generation and those that follow; when this happens, and only then, it is appropriate to include a general understanding of these principles in a well-structured liberal education for all educated individuals. This perspective suggests that we shouldn't rush to incorporate every new discovery into our educational curriculum as soon as it's made. They need time to settle into their rightful place in people's minds and to be understood appropriately; until this happens, introducing these discoveries into elementary education can confuse and disrupt rather than clarify and expand the learners' understanding. Hence, it may have been reasonable for a century to pass after Galileo before the rigorous teaching of Mechanics became a standard part of intellectual training, and the idea of Universal Gravitation wasn't fully ready for such use until the end of the last century. We shouldn't encourage an unformed young mind to set sail on the waters of speculation until the turmoil of discovery, along with its resulting fluctuations and controversies, has calmed down.
18. But it may be asked, How is it that time 179 operates to give distinctness and evidence to scientific ideas? In what way does it happen that views and principles, obscure and wavering at first, after a while become luminous and steady? Can we point out any process, any intermediate steps, by which this result is produced? If we can, this process must be an important portion of the subject now under our consideration.
18. But you might wonder, how does time 179 work to clarify and strengthen scientific concepts? How do ideas and principles that seem unclear and shaky at first eventually become clear and stable? Can we identify any steps or processes that lead to this outcome? If we can, this process is likely a significant part of the topic we’re discussing.
To this we reply, that the transition from the hesitation and contradiction with which true ideas are first received, to the general assent and clear apprehension which they afterwards obtain, takes place through the circulation of various arguments for and against them, and various modes of presenting and testing them, all which we may include under the term Discussion, which we have already mentioned as the second of the two ways by which scientific views are developed into full maturity.
In response to this, we say that the shift from the uncertainty and conflicting opinions present when true ideas are first introduced to the widespread acceptance and clear understanding they eventually achieve happens through the exchange of different arguments for and against them, along with various ways of presenting and evaluating them. We can refer to all of this as Discussion, which we previously identified as the second of the two methods by which scientific ideas reach their full development.
CHAPTER IV.
Of Ways to Gain Clear Scientific Understanding,
continued.—Ideas Discussion.
Aphorism XXXIII.
Aphorism 33.
The conception involved in scientific truths have attained the requisite degree of clearness by means of the Discussions respecting ideas which have taken place among discoverers and their followers. Such discussions are very far from being unprofitable to science. They are metaphysical, and must be so: the difference between discoverers and barren reasoners is, that the former employ good, and the latter bad metaphysics.
The understanding of scientific truths has reached the necessary level of clarity through discussions about ideas that have occurred among discoverers and their followers. These discussions are far from being unhelpful to science. They are metaphysical, and they need to be: the difference between discoverers and unproductive thinkers is that the former use good, and the latter use poor metaphysics.
1. IT is easily seen that in every part of science, the establishment of a new set of ideas has been accompanied with much of doubt and dissent. And by means of discussions so occasioned, the new conceptions, and the opinions which involve them, have gradually become definite and clear. The authors and asserters of the new opinions, in order to make them defensible, have been compelled to make them consistent: in order to recommend them to others, they have been obliged to make them more entirely intelligible to themselves. And thus the Terms which formed the main points of the controversy, although applied in a loose and vacillating manner at first, have in the end become perfectly definite and exact. The opinions discussed have been, in their main features, the same throughout the debate; but they have at first been dimly, and at last clearly apprehended: like the objects of a landscape, at which we look through a telescope ill adjusted, till, by sliding the tube backwards and 181 forwards, we at last bring it into focus, and perceive every feature of the prospect sharp and bright.
IT is clear that in every area of science, introducing a new set of ideas has often been met with doubt and disagreement. Through the discussions that arise from this, new concepts and the opinions tied to them have gradually become more defined and clear. The authors and proponents of these new ideas have had to make them consistent in order to defend them; in trying to convince others, they've needed to understand them fully themselves. As a result, the terms that were central to the debate, which were initially used in a vague and uncertain way, have ultimately become perfectly clear and precise. The opinions discussed have remained largely the same throughout the conversation; they were initially only vaguely understood, but eventually became clear: like looking at a landscape through a misadjusted telescope, until, by adjusting the tube back and forth, we finally bring it into focus and see every detail of the view clearly and vividly.
2. We have in the last Book21 fully exemplified this gradual progress of conceptions from obscurity to clearness by means of Discussion. We have seen, too, that this mode of treating the subject has never been successful, except when it has been associated with an appeal to facts as well as to reasonings. A combination of experiment with argument, of observation with demonstration, has always been found requisite in order that men should arrive at those distinct conceptions which give them substantial truths. The arguments used led to the rejection of undefined, ambiguous, self-contradictory notions; but the reference to facts led to the selection, or at least to the retention, of the conceptions which were both true and useful. The two correlative processes, definition and true assertion, the formation of clear ideas and the induction of laws, went on together.
2. In the last Book21 we fully demonstrated this gradual evolution of ideas from confusion to clarity through Discussion. We've also seen that this approach hasn't worked unless it was combined with references to both facts and reasoning. A mix of experimentation with argument and observation with demonstration has always been necessary for people to develop clear ideas that lead to solid truths. The arguments presented helped eliminate vague, ambiguous, and contradictory concepts, while the focus on facts helped in choosing or at least keeping the ideas that were both true and useful. The two related processes, defining and making true statements, the development of clear concepts and the formation of laws, happened simultaneously.
Thus those discussions by which scientific conceptions are rendered ultimately quite distinct and fixed, include both reasonings from Principles and illustrations from Facts. At present we turn our attention more peculiarly to the former part of the process; according to the distinction already drawn, between the Explication of Conceptions and the Colligation of Facts. The Discussions of which we here speak, are the Method (if they may be called a method) by which the Explication of Conceptions is carried to the requisite point among philosophers.
Thus, the discussions that make scientific ideas clear and well-defined involve both reasoning from principles and examples from facts. Right now, we’re focusing more specifically on the former part of the process, based on the distinction we've already made between explaining concepts and connecting facts. The discussions we’re talking about are the method (if we can call it a method) through which the explanation of concepts reaches the necessary level among philosophers.
3. In the History of the Fundamental Ideas of the Sciences which forms the Prelude to this work, and in the History of the Inductive Sciences, I have, in several instances, traced the steps by which, historically speaking, these Ideas have obtained their ultimate and permanent place in the minds of speculative men. I have thus exemplified the reasonings and controversies which constitute such Discussion as we now speak of. I have stated, at considerable length, the 182 various attempts, failures, and advances, by which the ideas which enter into the science of Mechanics were evolved into their present evidence. In like manner we have seen the conception of refracted rays of light, obscure and confused in Seneca, growing clearer in Roger Bacon, more definite in Descartes, perfectly distinct in Newton. The polarity of light, at first contemplated with some perplexity, became very distinct to Malus, Young, and Fresnel; yet the phenomena of circular polarization, and still more, the circular polarization of fluids, leave us, even at present, some difficulty in fully mastering this conception. The related polarities of electricity and magnetism are not yet fully comprehended, even by our greatest philosophers. One of Mr. Faraday’s late papers (the Fourteenth Series of his Researches) is employed in an experimental discussion of this subject, which leads to no satisfactory result. The controversy between MM. Biot and Ampère22, on the nature of the Elementary Forces in electro-dynamic action, is another evidence that the discussion of this subject has not yet reached its termination. With regard to chemical polarity, I have already stated that this idea is as yet very far from being brought to an ultimate condition of definiteness; and the subject of Chemical Forces, (for that whole subject must be included in this idea of polarity,) which has already occasioned much perplexity and controversy, may easily occasion much more, before it is settled to the satisfaction of the philosophical world. The ideas of the classificatory sciences also have of late been undergoing much, and very instructive discussion, in the controversies respecting the relations and offices of the natural and artificial methods. And with regard to physiological ideas, it would hardly be too much to say, that the whole history of physiology up to the present time has consisted of the discussion of the fundamental ideas of the science, such as Vital Forces, Nutrition, Reproduction, and the like. We had before us at some length, in the History of Scientific Ideas, a review 183 of the opposite opinions which have been advanced on this subject; and we attempted in some degree to estimate the direction in which these ideas are permanently settling. But without attaching any importance to this attempt, the account there given may at least serve to show, how important a share in the past progress of this subject the discussion of its Fundamental Ideas has hitherto had.
3. In the History of the Fundamental Ideas of the Sciences that serves as the Prelude to this work, and in the History of the Inductive Sciences, I have, in various instances, traced the steps by which, historically speaking, these Ideas established their ultimate and lasting place in the minds of thinkers. I have illustrated the reasoning and debates that characterize the Discussions we now refer to. I have explained, in detail, the various attempts, failures, and advancements that have shaped the ideas present in the science of Mechanics into their current form. Similarly, we have witnessed the concept of refracted rays of light, which was initially vague and unclear in Seneca, become clearer in Roger Bacon, more precise in Descartes, and completely distinct in Newton. The polarity of light, which was initially perplexing, became much clearer to Malus, Young, and Fresnel; however, the phenomena of circular polarization, particularly the circular polarization of fluids, still pose challenges in fully grasping this concept today. The related polarities of electricity and magnetism remain incompletely understood, even by our most eminent philosophers. One of Mr. Faraday’s recent papers (the Fourteenth Series of his Researches) focuses on an experimental discussion of this topic, which yields no definitive outcome. The debate between MM. Biot and Ampère22, regarding the nature of the Elementary Forces in electro-dynamic action, is further evidence that the discussion on this topic has not yet concluded. Concerning chemical polarity, I have already noted that this concept is still far from achieving a clear and definite state; and the topic of Chemical Forces (as the entire subject must be encompassed within the idea of polarity) has already caused significant confusion and debate, likely to generate even more, before reaching a resolution that satisfies the philosophical community. The concepts in the classificatory sciences have also recently been undergoing extensive and enlightening discussions about the relationships and roles of natural and artificial methods. As for physiological ideas, it would hardly be an exaggeration to state that the entire history of physiology to date has revolved around discussions of the fundamental ideas of the science, such as Vital Forces, Nutrition, Reproduction, and similar topics. We previously provided a comprehensive review in the History of Scientific Ideas of the conflicting opinions surrounding this subject; and we aimed, to some extent, to assess the direction in which these ideas are steadily evolving. However, irrespective of any significance attached to this attempt, the account provided there may at least demonstrate the crucial role that the discussion of its Fundamental Ideas has played in the past development of this subject.
4. There is one reflexion which is very pointedly suggested by what has been said. The manner in which our scientific ideas acquire their distinct and ultimate form being such as has been described,—always involving much abstract reasoning and analysis of our conceptions, often much opposite argumentation and debate;—how unphilosophical is it to speak of abstraction and analysis, of dispute and controversy, as frivolous and unprofitable processes, by which true science can never be benefitted; and how erroneous to put such employments in antithesis with the study of facts!
4. One reflection that stands out from what has been said is this: The way our scientific ideas develop into their clear and final form, as described, usually involves a lot of abstract thinking and analysis of our concepts, often accompanied by opposing arguments and debates. It’s incredibly unphilosophical to label abstraction and analysis, along with dispute and controversy, as trivial and unproductive processes that can never benefit true science; it's also misguided to position these activities against the study of facts!
Yet some writers are accustomed to talk with contempt of all past controversies, and to wonder at the blindness of those who did not at first take the view which was established at last. Such persons forget that it was precisely the controversy, which established among speculative men that final doctrine which they themselves have quietly accepted. It is true, they have had no difficulty in thoroughly adopting the truth; but that has occurred because all dissentient doctrines have been suppressed and forgotten; and because systems, and books, and language itself, have been accommodated peculiarly to the expression of the accepted truth. To despise those who have, by their mental struggles and conflicts, brought the subject into a condition in which errour is almost out of our reach, is to be ungrateful exactly in proportion to the amount of the benefit received. It is as if a child, when its teacher had with many trials and much trouble prepared a telescope so that the vision through it was distinct, should wonder at his stupidity in pushing the tube of the eye-glass out and in so often. 184
Yet some writers tend to speak with disdain about all past debates and are baffled by the ignorance of those who didn’t initially hold the same view that eventually became accepted. These individuals forget that it was exactly those debates that helped establish the final doctrine that they themselves have now comfortably embraced. It’s true they’ve had no trouble fully adopting this truth, but that’s happened because all opposing ideas have been suppressed and forgotten; because systems, books, and even language have been specifically tailored to express the accepted truth. To look down on those who, through their mental struggles and conflicts, brought the subject to a point where error is nearly out of reach is to be deeply ungrateful in proportion to how much benefit has been gained. It’s like a child, after a teacher has painstakingly prepared a telescope so that the view is clear, questioning the teacher’s intelligence for frequently adjusting the eyepiece. 184
5. Again, some persons condemn all that we have here spoken of as the discussion of ideas, terming it metaphysical: and in this spirit, one writer23 has spoken of the ‘metaphysical period’ of each science, as preceding the period of ‘positive knowledge.’ But as we have seen, that process which is here termed ‘metaphysical,’—the analysis of our conceptions and the exposure of their inconsistencies,—(accompanied with the study of facts,)—has always gone on most actively in the most prosperous periods of each science. There is, in Galileo, Kepler, Gassendi, and the other fathers of mechanical philosophy, as much of metaphysics as in their adversaries. The main difference is, that the metaphysics is of a better kind; it is more conformable to metaphysical truth. And the same is the case in other sciences. Nor can it be otherwise. For all truth, before it can be consistent with facts, must be consistent with itself: and although this rule is of undeniable authority, its application is often far from easy. The perplexities and ambiguities which arise from our having the same idea presented to us under different aspects, are often difficult to disentangle: and no common acuteness and steadiness of thought must be expended on the task. It would be easy to adduce, from the works of all great discoverers, passages more profoundly metaphysical than any which are to be found in the pages of barren à priori reasoners.
5. Again, some people criticize everything we've discussed here as just an analysis of ideas, calling it metaphysical: and in this spirit, one writer23 has referred to the ‘metaphysical period’ of each science as coming before the period of ‘positive knowledge.’ But as we've seen, the process referred to as ‘metaphysical’—the breakdown of our ideas and the revealing of their inconsistencies—(alongside the study of facts)—has always been most active during the most successful periods of each science. Figures like Galileo, Kepler, Gassendi, and the other pioneers of mechanical philosophy embody just as much metaphysics as their opponents do. The significant difference is that their metaphysics is of a higher quality; it is more aligned with metaphysical truth. The same applies in other sciences. There’s no other way for it to be. For all truth must be consistent with itself before it can be consistent with facts: and even though this principle is undeniably valid, applying it can often be quite challenging. The puzzlements and uncertainties that come from seeing the same idea presented in different ways can be hard to unravel: and a considerable amount of sharp thinking and focus is needed for this task. It would be easy to find in the writings of all major discoverers passages that are more deeply metaphysical than anything found in the works of empty à priori reasoners.
6. As we have said, these metaphysical discussions are not to be put in opposition to the study of facts; but are to be stimulated, nourished and directed by a constant recourse to experiment and observation. The cultivation of ideas is to be conducted as having for its object the connexion of facts; never to be pursued as a mere exercise of the subtilty of the mind, striving to build up a world of its own, and neglecting that which exists about us. For although man may in this way please himself, and admire the creations of his own brain, he can never, by this course, hit upon the 185 real scheme of nature. With his ideas unfolded by education, sharpened by controversy, rectified by metaphysics, he may understand the natural world, but he cannot invent it. At every step, he must try the value of the advances he has made in thought, by applying his thoughts to things. The Explication of Conceptions must be carried on with a perpetual reference to the Colligation of Facts.
6. As we mentioned, these philosophical discussions shouldn't be seen as separate from the study of facts; rather, they should be inspired, supported, and guided by ongoing experimentation and observation. The development of ideas should aim to connect facts; it should never be simply an exercise in mental cleverness, trying to create an entirely separate world while ignoring the one around us. While a person may find personal satisfaction and appreciate the inventions of their own mind, they will never uncover the true workings of nature this way. With their ideas shaped by education, sharpened through debate, and refined by philosophy, they may be able to understand the natural world, but they cannot create it. At every turn, they must test the value of the progress they’ve made in thought by applying those thoughts to real things. The clarification of concepts must be continuously linked to the connection of facts.
Having here treated of Education and Discussion as the methods by which the former of these two processes is to be promoted, we have now to explain the methods which science employs in order most successfully to execute the latter. But the Colligation of Facts, as already stated, may offer to us two steps of a very different kind,—the laws of Phenomena, and their Causes. We shall first describe some of the methods employed in obtaining truths of the former of these two kinds.
Having discussed Education and Discussion as methods to advance the first of these two processes, we now need to explain the methods science uses to effectively carry out the second. However, the Colligation of Facts, as mentioned earlier, can present us with two distinct steps—the laws of Phenomena and their Causes. We will first outline some of the methods used to uncover truths of the former type.
CHAPTER V.
Analysis of the Induction Process.
Aphorism XXXIV.
Aphorism 34.
The Process of Induction may be resolved into three steps; the Selection of the Idea, the Construction of the Conception, and the Determination of the Magnitudes.
The process of induction can be broken down into three steps: selecting the idea, constructing the conception, and determining the magnitudes.
Aphorism XXXV.
Aphorism 35.
These three steps correspond to the determination of the Independent Variable, the Formula, and the Coefficients, in mathematical investigations; or to the Argument, the Law, and the Numerical Data, in a Table of an astronomical or other Inequality.
These three steps relate to identifying the Independent Variable, the Formula, and the Coefficients, in mathematical investigations; or to the Argument, the Law, and the Numerical Data, in a Table of an astronomical or other Inequality.
Aphorism XXXVI.
Aphorism XXXVI.
The Selection of the Idea depends mainly upon inventive sagacity: which operates by suggesting and trying various hypotheses. Some inquirers try erroneous hypotheses; and thus, exhausting the forms of errour, form the Prelude to Discovery.
The choice of the idea mainly relies on creative insight, which works by proposing and testing different hypotheses. Some researchers explore incorrect hypotheses, and in doing so, they exhaust the possibilities of error, paving the way for discovery.
Aphorism XXXVII.
Aphorism 37.
The following Rules may be given, in order to the selection of the Idea for purposes of Induction:—the Idea and the Facts must be homogeneous; and the Rule must be tested by the Facts.
The following rules can be applied to choosing the idea for induction purposes: the idea and the facts must be similar; and the rule must be verified by the facts.
Sect. I.—The Three Steps of Induction.
Sect. I.—The Three Steps of Induction.
1. WHEN facts have been decomposed and phenomena measured, the philosopher endeavours to combine them into general laws, by the aid of 187 Ideas and Conceptions; these being illustrated and regulated by such means as we have spoken of in the last two chapters. In this task, of gathering laws of nature from observed facts, as we have already said24, the natural sagacity of gifted minds is the power by which the greater part of the successful results have been obtained; and this power will probably always be more efficacious than any Method can be. Still there are certain methods of procedure which may, in such investigations, give us no inconsiderable aid, and these I shall endeavour to expound.
WHEN facts have been broken down and phenomena measured, the philosopher tries to combine them into general laws, using 187 ideas and concepts; these are explained and organized by the methods we discussed in the last two chapters. In this effort to gather laws of nature from observed facts, as we have already mentioned24, the natural insight of talented individuals is the driving force behind most of the successful outcomes; and this insight will likely always be more effective than any method can be. Still, there are certain approaches that can provide significant help in these investigations, and I will attempt to clarify them.
2. For this purpose, I remark that the Colligation of ascertained Facts into general Propositions may be considered as containing three steps, which I shall term the Selection of the Idea, the Construction of the Conception, and the Determination of the Magnitudes. It will be recollected that by the word Idea, (or Fundamental Idea,) used in a peculiar sense, I mean certain wide and general fields of intelligible relation, such as Space, Number, Cause, Likeness; while by Conception I denote more special modifications of these ideas, as a circle, a square number, a uniform force, a like form of flower. Now in order to establish any law by reference to facts, we must select the true Idea and the true Conception. For example; when Hipparchus found25 that the distance of the bright star Spica Virginis from the equinoxial point had increased by two degrees in about two hundred years, and desired to reduce this change to a law, he had first to assign, if possible, the idea on which it depended;—whether it was regulated for instance, by space, or by time; whether it was determined by the positions of other stars at each moment, or went on progressively with the lapse of ages. And when there was found reason to select time as the regulative idea of this change, it was then to be determined how the change went on with the time;—whether uniformly, or in some other manner: the conception, or the rule of the progression, was to be 188 rightly constructed. Finally, it being ascertained that the change did go on uniformly, the question then occurred what was its amount:—whether exactly a degree in a century, or more, or less, and how much: and thus the determination of the magnitude completed the discovery of the law of phenomena respecting this star.
2. For this purpose, I note that the organization of verified facts into general statements can be broken down into three steps, which I will call the Selection of the Idea, The Construction of the Conception, and The Determination of the Magnitudes. It should be remembered that by the term Idea (or Fundamental Idea), I mean broad and general areas of understandable relationships, like Space, Number, Cause, and Likeness; while by Conception, I refer to more specific variations of these ideas, such as a circle, a square number, a uniform force, or a similar form of flower. To establish any law based on facts, we need to select the true Idea and the true Conception. For instance, when Hipparchus discovered that the distance of the bright star Spica Virginis from the equinox point had increased by two degrees over about two hundred years, and wanted to derive a law from this change, he first had to identify the idea that it was based on; whether it was influenced, for example, by space or time; whether it was determined by the positions of other stars at any given moment, or if it progressed gradually over ages. Once there was a reason to choose time as the governing idea of this change, the next step was to determine how the change progressed over time; whether it was consistent or varied in some other way: the conception, or the rule of progression, needed to be 188 accurately constructed. Finally, once it was established that the change did occur consistently, the question arose about its amount: whether it was exactly a degree per century, or more, or less, and by how much; thus, identifying the magnitude completed the discovery of the law regarding this star's phenomena.
3. Steps similar to these three may be discerned in all other discoveries of laws of nature. Thus, in investigating the laws of the motions of the sun, moon or planets, we find that these motions may be resolved, besides a uniform motion, into a series of partial motions, or Inequalities; and for each of these Inequalities, we have to learn upon what it directly depends, whether upon the progress of time only, or upon some configuration of the heavenly bodies in space; then, we have to ascertain its law; and finally, we have to determine what is its amount. In the case of such Inequalities, the fundamental element on which the Inequality depends, is called by mathematicians the Argument. And when the Inequality has been fully reduced to known rules, and expressed in the form of a Table, the Argument is the fundamental Series of Numbers which stands in the margin of the Table, and by means of which we refer to the other Numbers which express the Inequality. Thus, in order to obtain from a Solar Table the Inequality of the sun’s annual motion, the Argument is the Number which expresses the day of the year; the Inequalities for each day being (in the Table) ranged in a line corresponding to the days. Moreover, the Argument of an Inequality being assumed to be known, we must, in order to calculate the Table, that is, in order to exhibit the law of nature, know also the Law of the Inequality, and its Amount. And the investigation of these three things, the Argument, the Law, and the Amount of the Inequality, represents the three steps above described, the Selection of the Idea, the Construction of the Conception, and the Determination of the Magnitude.
3. Steps like these three can be seen in all other discoveries of the laws of nature. For example, when we study the laws of the movements of the sun, moon, or planets, we find that these movements can be broken down, in addition to a uniform motion, into a series of partial motions, or Inequalities; and for each of these Inequalities, we need to understand what it directly depends on, whether it's just the passage of time or related to some arrangement of the celestial bodies in space. Then, we have to figure out its law, and finally, we need to determine its amount. In the case of these Inequalities, the essential element that the Inequality depends on is called the Argument by mathematicians. When the Inequality has been fully simplified to known rules and represented in the form of a Table, the Argument is the main Series of Numbers that appears in the margin of the Table, which we use to refer to the other Numbers that express the Inequality. So, to get the Inequality of the sun’s annual motion from a Solar Table, the Argument is the Number that represents the day of the year; the Inequalities for each day being listed in a row corresponding to the days. Additionally, assuming we know the Argument of an Inequality, we must also know the Law of the Inequality and its Amount in order to calculate the Table, which displays the law of nature. The investigation of these three aspects—the Argument, the Law, and the Amount of the Inequality—reflects the three steps previously described: selecting the Idea, constructing the Conception, and determining the Magnitude.
4. In a great body of cases, mathematical language and calculation are used to express the connexion 189 between the general law and the special facts. And when this is done, the three steps above described may be spoken of as the Selection of the Independent Variable, the Construction of the Formula, and the Determination of the Coefficients. It may be worth our while to attend to an exemplification of this. Suppose then, that, in such observations as we have just spoken of, namely, the shifting of a star from its place in the heavens by an unknown law, astronomers had, at the end of three successive years, found that the star had removed by 3, by 8, and by 15 minutes from its original place. Suppose it to be ascertained also, by methods of which we shall hereafter treat, that this change depends upon the time; we must then take the time, (which we may denote by the symbol t,) for the independent variable. But though the star changes its place with the time, the change is not proportional to the time; for its motion which is only 3 minutes in the first year, is 5 minutes in the second year, and 7 in the third. But it is not difficult for a person a little versed in mathematics to perceive that the series 3, 8, 15, may be obtained by means of two terms, one of which is proportional to the time, and the other to the square of the time; that is, it is expressed by the formula at + btt. The question then occurs, what are the values of the coefficients a and b; and a little examination of the case shows us that a must be 2, and b, 1: so that the formula is 2t + tt. Indeed if we add together the series 2, 4, 6, which expresses a change proportional to the time, and 1, 4, 9, which is proportional to the square of the time, we obtain the series 3, 8, 15, which is the series of numbers given by observation. And thus the three steps which give us the Idea, the Conception, and the Magnitudes; or the Argument, the Law, and the Amount, of the change; give us the Independent Variable, the Formula, and the Coefficients, respectively.
4. In many cases, mathematical language and calculations are used to show the connection 189 between the general law and specific facts. When this happens, the three steps mentioned earlier can be referred to as the Selection of the Independent Variable, the Construction of the Formula, and the Determination of the Coefficients. It might be helpful to look at an example. Suppose that, in the observations we've just discussed—specifically, the movement of a star from its position in the sky due to an unknown law—astronomers found that over three consecutive years, the star shifted by 3, then 8, and finally 15 minutes from its original location. Let's also assume that it's been determined, through methods we'll discuss later, that this change depends on time; therefore, we should take time (denoted by the symbol t) as the independent variable. However, while the star's position changes with time, the change isn't proportional to time; its movement is only 3 minutes in the first year, 5 minutes in the second year, and 7 minutes in the third. However, someone with a basic understanding of mathematics can see that the series 3, 8, 15 can be represented using two terms: one that is proportional to time and the other that is proportional to the square of the time; in other words, it can be expressed with the formula at + btt. The next question is, what are the values of the coefficients a and b? A little examination of the case shows that a must be 2, and b must be 1, making the formula 2t + tt. Indeed, if we add the series 2, 4, 6 (which shows a change proportional to time) and the series 1, 4, 9 (which represents a change proportional to the square of time), we get the series 3, 8, 15, which matches the numbers observed. Thus, the three steps leading us to the Idea, the Conception, and the Magnitudes—or the Argument, the Law, and the Amount of the change—correspond to the Independent Variable, the Formula, and the Coefficients, respectively.
We now proceed to offer some suggestions of methods by which each of these steps may be in some degree promoted. 190
We will now provide some suggestions for methods to help promote each of these steps. 190
Sect. II.—Of the Selection of the Fundamental Idea.
Sect. 2.—About Choosing the Core Idea.
5. When we turn our thoughts upon any assemblage of facts, with a view of collecting from them some connexion or law, the most important step, and at the same time that in which rules can least aid us, is the Selection of the Idea by which they are to be collected. So long as this idea has not been detected, all seems to be hopeless confusion or insulated facts; when the connecting idea has been caught sight of, we constantly regard the facts with reference to their connexion, and wonder that it should be possible for any one to consider them in any other point of view.
5. When we focus on a collection of facts to find some connection or principle, the most important step—and the one where rules are least helpful—is choosing the idea that will guide us in bringing them together. Until we identify this idea, everything appears to be a chaotic jumble or disconnected facts; once we grasp the connecting idea, we consistently view the facts in relation to their connection and can’t understand how anyone could see them differently.
Thus the different seasons, and the various aspects of the heavenly bodies, might at first appear to be direct manifestations from some superior power, which man could not even understand: but it was soon found that the ideas of time and space, of motion and recurrence, would give coherency to many of the phenomena. Yet this took place by successive steps. Eclipses, for a long period, seemed to follow no law; and being very remarkable events, continued to be deemed the indications of a supernatural will, after the common motions of the heavens were seen to be governed by relations of time and space. At length, however, the Chaldeans discovered that, after a period of eighteen years, similar sets of eclipses recur; and, thus selecting the idea of time, simply, as that to which these events were to be referred, they were able to reduce them to rule; and from that time, eclipses were recognized as parts of a regular order of things. We may, in the same manner, consider any other course of events, and may enquire by what idea they are bound together. For example, if we take the weather, years peculiarly wet or dry, hot and cold, productive and unproductive, follow each other in a manner which, at first sight at least, seems utterly lawless and irregular. Now can we in any way discover some rule and order in these occurrences? Is there, for example, in these events, as in eclipses, a certain cycle of years, after which like 191 seasons come round again? or does the weather depend upon the force of some extraneous body—for instance, the moon—and follow in some way her aspects? or would the most proper way of investigating this subject be to consider the effect of the moisture and heat of various tracts of the earth’s surface upon the ambient air? It is at our choice to try these and other modes of obtaining a science of the weather: that is, we may refer the phenomena to the idea of time, introducing the conception of a cycle;—or to the idea of external force, by the conception of the moon’s action;—or to the idea of mutual action, introducing the conceptions of thermotical and atmological agencies, operating between different regions of earth, water, and air.
So, the different seasons and the various appearances of celestial bodies might initially seem like direct signs from some higher power that humans couldn't even begin to understand. But it soon became clear that the concepts of time and space, motion and recurrence, could help make sense of many phenomena. This understanding developed step by step. For a long time, eclipses appeared to have no pattern; being significant events, they continued to be viewed as signs of some supernatural intent, even after it was recognized that the routine movements of the heavens were determined by the relationships of time and space. Eventually, though, the Chaldeans figured out that after an eighteen-year cycle, similar sets of eclipses happen again. By focusing simply on the idea of time as the reference point for these events, they could create a consistent rule, and from then on, eclipses were acknowledged as parts of a regular system. We can apply the same approach to other events and explore what binds them together. Take the weather, for example: years that are particularly wet or dry, hot or cold, productive or unproductive follow each other in a way that, at first glance, seems completely random and chaotic. Can we find a rule or order in these occurrences? Is there, like with eclipses, a certain cycle of years after which similar 191 seasons return? Or does the weather rely on the influence of some external force—like the moon—and somehow follow its phases? Or is it more effective to investigate how the moisture and heat of different areas of the Earth's surface affect the surrounding air? It's up to us to try these and other methods to understand the science of the weather: we can attribute the phenomena to the idea of time, introducing the concept of a cycle; or to the idea of external force, considering the moon’s effects; or to the idea of mutual action, taking into account the interactions of thermal and atmospheric influences between different earth, water, and air regions.
6. It may be asked, How are we to decide in such alternatives? How are we to select the one right idea out of several conceivable ones? To which we can only reply, that this must be done by trying which will succeed. If there really exist a cycle of the weather, as well as of eclipses, this must be established by comparing the asserted cycle with a good register of the seasons, of sufficient extent. Or if the moon really influence the meteorological conditions of the air, the asserted influence must be compared with the observed facts, and so accepted or rejected. When Hipparchus had observed the increase of longitude of the stars, the idea of a motion of the celestial sphere suggested itself as the explanation of the change; but this thought was verified only by observing several stars. It was conceivable that each star should have an independent motion, governed by time only, or by other circumstances, instead of being regulated by its place in the sphere; and this possibility could be rejected by trial alone. In like manner, the original opinion of the composition of bodies supposed the compounds to derive their properties from the elements according to the law of likeness; but this opinion was overturned by a thousand facts; and thus the really applicable Idea of Chemical Composition was introduced in modern times. In what has already been said on the History of Ideas, we have seen how each science was in a state 192 of confusion and darkness till the right idea was introduced.
6. One might wonder, how do we decide among these options? How do we pick the one correct idea from several possible ones? The answer is that we need to determine which one works by trying them out. If there is indeed a pattern to the weather, just like there is with eclipses, we have to confirm this by comparing the proposed pattern with a reliable record of the seasons over a significant period. Similarly, if the moon really affects the weather conditions, we must compare the claimed influence with actual observations and then either validate or dismiss it. When Hipparchus noticed the stars' increasing longitude, the idea of a motion in the celestial sphere emerged as a potential explanation for the change; however, this idea was only verified through the observation of multiple stars. It was possible that each star could have its own independent motion, determined only by time or other factors, rather than being influenced by its position in the sphere; and this possibility could only be ruled out through experimentation. Likewise, the initial theory about the composition of substances suggested that compounds gained their properties from their elements based on the law of likeness; but this theory was disproven by countless facts, leading to the modern understanding of Chemical Composition. As we've seen in the History of Ideas, each science was in a state of confusion and darkness until the correct idea was established.
7. No general method of evolving such ideas can be given. Such events appear to result from a peculiar sagacity and felicity of mind;—never without labour, never without preparation;—yet with no constant dependence upon preparation, or upon labour, or even entirely upon personal endowments. Newton explained the colours which refraction produces, by referring each colour to a peculiar angle of refraction, thus introducing the right idea. But when the same philosopher tried to explain the colours produced by diffraction, he erred, by attempting to apply the same idea, (the course of a single ray,) instead of applying the truer idea, of the interference of two rays. Newton gave a wrong rule for the double refraction of Iceland spar, by making the refraction depend on the edges of the rhombohedron: Huyghens, more happy, introduced the idea of the axis of symmetry of the solid, and thus was able to give the true law of the phenomena.
7. There's no one-size-fits-all approach to developing such ideas. These occurrences seem to stem from a unique insight and clarity of thought;—always requiring effort, always needing preparation;—but not solely relying on preparation, effort, or even personal abilities. Newton explained the colors created by refraction by associating each color with a specific angle of refraction, thus presenting the correct concept. However, when the same scientist attempted to explain the colors caused by diffraction, he made a mistake by trying to use the same concept, (the path of a single ray), instead of applying the more accurate idea of the interference of two rays. Newton provided an incorrect rule for the double refraction of Iceland spar by basing the refraction on the edges of the rhombohedron: Huyghens, being more fortunate, introduced the concept of the axis of symmetry of the solid, which allowed him to establish the true law of the phenomena.
8. Although the selected idea is proved to be the right one, only when the true law of nature is established by means of it, yet it often happens that there prevails a settled conviction respecting the relation which must afford the key to the phenomena, before the selection has been confirmed by the laws to which it leads. Even before the empirical laws of the tides were made out, it was not doubtful that these laws depended upon the places and motions of the sun and moon. We know that the crystalline form of a body must depend upon its chemical composition, though we are as yet unable to assign the law of this dependence.
8. Even though the chosen idea is only proven to be correct once the true law of nature is established through it, people often have a strong belief about the relationship that should provide insight into the phenomena before this selection is validated by the laws that it suggests. For example, before the empirical laws of tides were figured out, it was already clear that these laws were influenced by the positions and movements of the sun and moon. We understand that a solid's crystalline form must be related to its chemical composition, even though we still can't define the exact law of that relationship.
Indeed in most cases of great discoveries, the right idea to which the facts were to be referred, was selected by many philosophers, before the decisive demonstration that it was the right idea, was given by the discoverer. Thus Newton showed that the motions of the planets might be explained by means of a central force in the sun: but though he established, he did not first select the idea involved in the conception of a 193 central force. The idea had already been sufficiently pointed out, dimly by Kepler, more clearly by Borelli, Huyghens, Wren, and Hooke. Indeed this anticipation of the true idea is always a principal part of that which, in the History of the Sciences, we have termed the Prelude of a Discovery. The two steps of proposing a philosophical problem, and of solving it, are, as we have elsewhere said, both important, and are often performed by different persons. The former step is, in fact, the Selection of the Idea. In explaining any change, we have to discover first the Argument, and then the Law of the change. The selection of the Argument is the step of which we here speak; and is that in which inventiveness of mind and justness of thought are mainly shown.
In most cases of major discoveries, many philosophers had already picked the right idea that the facts would eventually support before the discoverer provided decisive proof that it was indeed the right idea. For example, Newton demonstrated that the movements of the planets could be explained by a central force from the sun, but while he established it, he didn’t initially choose the concept of a central force. This idea had already been suggested, though vaguely by Kepler and more clearly by Borelli, Huygens, Wren, and Hooke. This anticipation of the correct idea is always a key part of what we refer to as the Prelude of a Discovery in the History of the Sciences. The two processes of proposing a philosophical problem and solving it are both significant and are often done by different people. The first step is essentially the Selection of the Idea. When explaining any change, we first need to identify the Argument and then the Law governing the change. The selection of the Argument is the focus here, showcasing the creativity and clarity of thought involved. 193
9. Although, as we have said, we can give few precise directions for this cardinal process, the Selection of the Idea, in speculating on phenomena, yet there is one Rule which may have its use: it is this:—The idea and the facts must be homogeneous: the elementary Conceptions, into which the facts have been decomposed, must be of the same nature as the Idea by which we attempt to collect them into laws. Thus, if facts have been observed and measured by reference to space, they must be bound together by the idea of space: if we would obtain a knowledge of mechanical forces in the solar system, we must observe mechanical phenomena. Kepler erred against this rule in his attempts at obtaining physical laws of the system; for the facts which he took were the velocities, not the changes of velocity, which are really the mechanical facts. Again, there has been a transgression of this Rule committed by all chemical philosophers who have attempted to assign the relative position of the elementary particles of bodies in their component molecules. For their purpose has been to discover the relations of the particles in space; and yet they have neglected the only facts in the constitution of bodies which have a reference to space—namely, crystalline form, and optical properties. No progress can be made in the theory of the elementary structure of bodies, 194 without making these classes of facts the main basis of our speculations.
9. Although we’ve mentioned that we can provide few specific guidelines for this key process, the Selection of the Idea, when analyzing phenomena, there is one rule that might be helpful: The idea and the facts must be homogeneous: the basic concepts that the facts have been broken down into must be of the same nature as the idea we’re using to bring them together into laws. So, if facts have been observed and measured in relation to space, they must be connected by the idea of space. If we want to understand mechanical forces in the solar system, we need to observe mechanical phenomena. Kepler made a mistake against this rule in his efforts to derive physical laws of the system; he focused on velocities, not on changes of velocity, which are the real mechanical facts. Additionally, all chemical philosophers who have tried to determine the relative positions of the elementary particles in molecules have violated this rule. Their aim has been to discover the relations of the particles in space, yet they’ve overlooked the only facts concerning the structure of bodies that relate to space—specifically, crystalline form and optical properties. There can be no advancement in understanding the elementary structure of bodies, 194 without making these categories of facts the foundational basis of our theories.
10. The only other Rule which I have to offer on this subject, is that which I have already given:—the Idea must be tested by the facts. It must be tried by applying to the facts the conceptions which are derived from the idea, and not accepted till some of these succeed in giving the law of the phenomena. The justice of the suggestion cannot be known otherwise than by making the trial. If we can discover a true law by employing any conceptions, the idea from which these conceptions are derived is the right one; nor can there be any proof of its rightness so complete and satisfactory, as that we are by it led to a solid and permanent truth.
10. The only other point I want to make on this topic is the one I already mentioned: the idea must be tested by the facts. It should be evaluated by applying to the facts the concepts that come from the idea, and it shouldn't be accepted until some of these concepts successfully explain the phenomena. The validity of the suggestion can only be determined through testing. If we can find a true law by using any of the concepts, then the idea behind those concepts is the right one; there can be no proof of its correctness as complete and satisfying as discovering a solid and lasting truth through it.
This, however, can hardly be termed a Rule; for when we would know, to conjecture and to try the truth of our conjecture by a comparison with the facts, is the natural and obvious dictate of common sense.
This, however, can hardly be called a Rule; because when we want to know something, using our imagination and testing our guess against the facts is the natural and clear guidance of common sense.
Supposing the Idea which we adopt, or which we would try, to be now fixed upon, we still have before us the range of many Conceptions derived from it; many Formulæ may be devised depending on the same Independent Variable, and we must now consider how our selection among these is to be made.
Supposing the idea we choose, or want to try, is now set, we still have a variety of concepts derived from it. Many formulas may be created based on the same independent variable, and we must now think about how we will choose among them.
CHAPTER VI.
General Guidelines for Developing the Concept.
Aphorism XXXVIII.
Aphorism 38.
The Construction of the Conception very often includes, in a great measure, the Determination of the Magnitudes.
The process of forming the idea often involves, to a large extent, deciding on the sizes.
Aphorism XXXIX.
Aphorism 39.
When a series of progressive numbers is given as the result of observation, it may generally be reduced to law by combinations of arithmetical and geometrical progressions.
When a series of progressive numbers is given based on observation, it can usually be simplified into a law through combinations of arithmetic and geometric progressions.
Aphorism XL.
Aphorism 40.
A true formula for a progressive series of numbers cannot commonly be obtained from a narrow range of observations.
A true formula for a progressive series of numbers can’t typically be derived from a narrow range of observations.
Aphorism XLI.
Aphorism 41.
Recurrent series of numbers must, in most cases, be expressed by circular formulæ.
Recurrent series of numbers usually need to be represented by circular formulas.
Aphorism XLII.
Saying 42.
The true construction of the conception is frequently suggested by some hypothesis; and in these cases, the hypothesis may be useful, though containing superfluous parts.
The actual understanding of the idea is often indicated by a certain hypothesis; and in these instances, the hypothesis might be helpful, even if it includes unnecessary elements.
1. IN speaking of the discovery of laws of nature, those which depend upon quantity, as number, space, and the like, are most prominent and most easily conceived, and therefore in speaking of such researches, we shall often use language which applies peculiarly to 196 the cases in which quantities numerically measurable are concerned, leaving it for a subsequent task to extend our principles to ideas of other kinds.
IN discussing the discovery of natural laws, those that depend on quantity, like numbers, space, and similar concepts, stand out and are the easiest to understand. Therefore, in these discussions, we will often use terms that specifically apply to 196 situations where measurable quantities are involved, and it will be a later task to broaden our principles to include other types of ideas.
Hence we may at present consider the Construction of a Conception which shall include and connect the facts, as being the construction of a Mathematical Formula, coinciding with the numerical expression of the facts; and we have to consider how this process can be facilitated, it being supposed that we have already before us the numerical measures given by observation.
Hence, we can currently think of creating a concept that includes and links the facts as building a mathematical formula that matches the numerical expression of those facts. We need to consider how we can make this process easier, assuming we already have the numerical measurements obtained from observation.
2. We may remark, however, that the construction of the right Formula for any such case, and the determination of the Coefficients of such formula, which we have spoken of as two separate steps, are in practice almost necessarily simultaneous; for the near coincidence of the results of the theoretical rule with the observed facts confirms at the same time the Formula and its Coefficients. In this case also, the mode of arriving at truth is to try various hypotheses;—to modify the hypotheses so as to approximate to the facts, and to multiply the facts so as to test the hypotheses.
2. We should note, though, that creating the right formula for any given situation, and figuring out the coefficients of that formula—which we’ve referred to as two separate steps—are actually almost always done at the same time in practice. This is because the close alignment of the theoretical results with the observed facts supports both the formula and its coefficients. In this case, the way to find the truth is to test different hypotheses; to adjust those hypotheses to get closer to the facts, and to gather more facts in order to test the hypotheses.
The Independent Variable, and the Formula which we would try, being once selected, mathematicians have devised certain special and technical processes by which the value of the coefficients may be determined. These we shall treat of in the next Chapter; but in the mean time we may note, in a more general manner, the mode in which, in physical researches, the proper formula may be obtained.
The Independent Variable and the Formula we choose, once selected, have led mathematicians to create specific and technical methods for determining the value of the coefficients. We will discuss these in the next Chapter; however, in the meantime, we can note more generally how the appropriate formula can be obtained in physical research.
3. A person somewhat versed in mathematics, having before him a series of numbers, will generally be able to devise a formula which approaches near to those numbers. If, for instance, the series is constantly progressive, he will be able to see whether it more nearly resembles an arithmetical or a geometrical progression. For example, MM. Dulong and Petit, in their investigation of the law of cooling of bodies, obtained the following series of measures. A thermometer, made hot, was placed in an enclosure of which the temperature was 0 degrees, and the rapidity of 197 cooling of the thermometer was noted for many temperatures. It was found that
3. A person with some understanding of mathematics, looking at a series of numbers, can usually come up with a formula that closely matches those numbers. If, for example, the series is consistently progressive, they can tell whether it resembles an arithmetic or a geometric progression more closely. For instance, Dulong and Petit, in their study of how bodies cool, recorded the following series of measurements. A thermometer, heated up, was placed in an environment with a temperature of 0 degrees, and the rate of cooling of the thermometer was observed for various temperatures. It was found that
For the temperature | 240 | the rapidity of cooling was | 10·69 |
〃 | 220 | 〃 | 8·81 |
〃 | 200 | 〃 | 7·40 |
〃 | 180 | 〃 | 6·10 |
〃 | 160 | 〃 | 4·89 |
〃 | 140 | 〃 | 3·88 |
and so on. Now this series of numbers manifestly increases with greater rapidity as we proceed from the lower to the higher parts of the scale. The numbers do not, however, form a geometrical series, as we may easily ascertain. But if we were to take the differences of the successive terms we should find them to be—
and so on. Now this series of numbers clearly increases more rapidly as we move from the lower to the higher parts of the scale. The numbers, however, do not form a geometric series, as we can easily verify. But if we were to take the differences between the successive terms, we would find them to be—
1·88, 1·41, 1·30, 1·21, 1·01, &c.
1·88, 1·41, 1·30, 1·21, 1·01, &c.
and these numbers are very nearly the terms of a geometric series. For if we divide each term by the succeeding one, we find these numbers,
and these numbers are almost the terms of a geometric series. Because if we divide each term by the one that comes after it, we find these numbers,
1·33, 1·09, 1·07, 1·20, 1·27,
1.33, 1.09, 1.07, 1.20, 1.27
in which there does not appear to be any constant tendency to diminish or increase. And we shall find that a geometrical series in which the ratio is 1·165, may be made to approach very near to this series, the deviations from it being only such as may be accounted for by conceiving them as errours of observation. In this manner a certain formula26 is obtained, giving results 198 which very nearly coincide with the observed facts, as may be seen in the margin.
in which there doesn't seem to be any consistent trend to go up or down. We will see that a geometric series with a ratio of 1.165 can get very close to this series, with deviations caused mostly by what we can think of as errors in observation. This way, we derive a certain formula26 which produces results 198 that closely align with the observed facts, as shown in the margin.
The degree of coincidence is as follows:—
Excess of temperature of the thermometer, or values of t. |
Observed values of v. |
Calculated values of v. |
---|---|---|
240 | 10·69 | 10·68 |
220 | 8·81 | 8·89 |
200 | 7·40 | 7·34 |
180 | 6·10 | 6·03 |
160 | 4·89 | 4·87 |
140 | 3·88 | 3·89 |
120 | 3·02 | 3·05 |
100 | 2·30 | 2·33 |
80 | 1·74 | 1·72 |
The physical law expressed by the formula just spoken of is this:—that when a body is cooling in an empty inclosure which is kept at a constant temperature, the quickness of the cooling, for excesses of temperature in arithmetical progression, increases as the terms of a geometrical progression, diminished by a constant number.
The physical law described by the formula mentioned is this: when an object is cooling in an empty enclosure maintained at a steady temperature, the rate of cooling, for temperature differences in a linear progression, increases in a way that's similar to a geometric progression, reduced by a constant value.
4. In the actual investigation of Dulong and Petit, however, the formula was not obtained in precisely the manner just described. For the quickness of cooling depends upon two elements, the temperature of the hot body and the temperature of the inclosure; not merely upon the excess of one of these over the other. And it was found most convenient, first, to make such experiments as should exhibit the dependence of the velocity of cooling upon the temperature of the enclosure; which dependence is contained in the following law:—The quickness of cooling of a thermometer in vacuo for a constant excess of temperature, increases in geometric progression, when the temperature of the inclosure increases in arithmetic progression. From this law the preceding one follows by necessary consequence27.
4. In the actual investigation of Dulong and Petit, though, the formula wasn't obtained in exactly the way just described. The speed of cooling depends on two factors: the temperature of the hot object and the temperature of the surrounding environment; it’s not just about the difference between them. They found it most useful to conduct experiments that demonstrated how the cooling speed depends on the temperature of the enclosure; this relationship is stated in the following law:—The speed of cooling of a thermometer in a vacuum, at a constant excess temperature, increases in geometric progression as the temperature of the enclosure increases in arithmetic progression. From this law, the previous one follows as a necessary consequence27.
The whole of this series of researches of Dulong and Petit is full of the most beautiful and instructive artifices for the construction of the proper formulæ in physical research.
This example may serve to show the nature of the artifices which may be used for the construction of formulæ, when we have a constantly progressive series of numbers to represent. We must not only endeavour by trial to contrive a formula which will answer the conditions, but we must vary our experiments so as to determine, first one factor or portion of the formula, and then the other; and we must use the most 199 probable hypothesis as means of suggestion for our formulæ.
This example can illustrate the kinds of tricks that can be used to create formulas when we have a continuously advancing series of numbers to represent. We need to not only try to come up with a formula that meets the conditions but also adjust our experiments to identify one factor or part of the formula at a time. Additionally, we should use the most likely hypothesis as a basis for our formulas. 199
5. In a progressive series of numbers, unless the formula which we adopt be really that which expresses the law of nature, the deviations of the formula from the facts will generally become enormous, when the experiments are extended into new parts of the scale. True formulæ for a progressive series of results can hardly ever be obtained from a very limited range of experiments: just as the attempt to guess the general course of a road or a river, by knowing two or three points of it in the neighbourhood of one another, would generally fail. In the investigation respecting the laws of the cooling of bodies just noticed, one great advantage of the course pursued by the experimenters was, that their experiments included so great a range of temperatures. The attempts to assign the law of elasticity of steam deduced from experiments made with moderate temperatures, were found to be enormously wrong, when very high temperatures were made the subject of experiment. It is easy to see that this must be so: an arithmetical and a geometrical series may nearly coincide for a few terms moderately near each other: but if we take remote corresponding terms in the two series, one of these will be very many times the other. And hence, from a narrow range of experiments, we may infer one of these series when we ought to infer the other; and thus obtain a law which is widely erroneous.
5. In a progressive series of numbers, unless the formula we use really reflects the natural laws, the differences between the formula and the actual facts will usually be huge when we expand our experiments into new areas. Valid formulas for a progressive series of results can rarely be created from just a small set of experiments: similar to trying to figure out the overall path of a road or a river by only knowing two or three nearby points, which usually doesn't work. In the study of the cooling laws of bodies mentioned earlier, one major advantage of the approach taken by the experimenters was that their experiments covered a wide range of temperatures. Attempts to define the law of steam elasticity based on experiments conducted at moderate temperatures were shown to be significantly incorrect when very high temperatures were tested. It's easy to see why that happens: an arithmetic and a geometric series may nearly align for a few terms that are close together, but if we take distant corresponding terms in both series, one will be much larger than the other. Therefore, from a limited set of experiments, we might deduce one of these series when we should deduce the other, leading us to a conclusion that is vastly incorrect.
6. In Astronomy, the series of observations which we have to study are, for the most part, not progressive, but recurrent. The numbers observed do not go on constantly increasing; but after increasing up to a certain amount they diminish; then, after a certain space, increase again; and so on, changing constantly through certain cycles. In cases in which the observed numbers are of this kind, the formula which expresses them must be a circular function, of some sort or other; involving, for instance, sines, tangents, and other forms of calculation, which have recurring values when the angle on which they depend goes on constantly 200 increasing. The main business of formal astronomy consists in resolving the celestial phenomena into a series of terms of this kind, in detecting their arguments, and in determining their coefficients.
6. In Astronomy, the observations we need to study are mostly not progressive but recurrent. The numbers we observe don’t just keep increasing; they rise to a certain point and then decrease, after which they increase again after a period of time, and this pattern continues, constantly changing through certain cycles. When the observed numbers follow this pattern, the formula that describes them has to be a circular function of some kind; it could involve sines, tangents, and other calculations that have repeating values when the angle they depend on keeps 200 increasing. The main focus of formal astronomy is to break down celestial phenomena into a series of terms like this, identify their arguments, and figure out their coefficients.
7. In constructing the formulæ by which laws of nature are expressed, although the first object is to assign the Law of the Phenomena, philosophers have, in almost all cases, not proceeded in a purely empirical manner, to connect the observed numbers by some expression of calculation, but have been guided, in the selection of their formula, by some Hypothesis respecting the mode of connexion of the facts. Thus the formula of Dulong and Petit above given was suggested by the Theory of Exchanges; the first attempts at the resolution of the heavenly motions into circular functions were clothed in the hypothesis of Epicycles. And this was almost inevitable. ‘We must confess,’ says Copernicus28, ‘that the celestial motions are circular, or compounded of several circles, since their inequalities observe a fixed law, and recur in value at certain intervals, which could not be except they were circular: for a circle alone can make that quantity which has occurred recur again.’ In like manner the first publication of the Law of the Sines, the true formula of optical refraction, was accompanied by Descartes with an hypothesis, in which an explanation of the law was pretended. In such cases, the mere comparison of observations may long fail in suggesting the true formulæ. The fringes of shadows and other diffracted colours were studied in vain by Newton, Grimaldi, Comparetti, the elder Herschel, and Mr. Brougham, so long as these inquirers attempted merely to trace the laws of the facts as they appeared in themselves; while Young, Fresnel, Fraunhofer, Schwerdt, and others, determined these laws in the most rigorous manner, when they applied to the observations the Hypothesis of Interferences.
7. In developing the formulas that express the laws of nature, while the main goal is to outline the Law of the Phenomena, philosophers have, in nearly all instances, not approached this purely through empirical methods, connecting observed numbers with some mathematical expression. Instead, they have been led in choosing their formulas by some Hypothesis about how the facts are connected. For example, the formula provided by Dulong and Petit was inspired by the Theory of Exchanges; the initial attempts to break down the motions of celestial bodies into circular functions were framed within the hypothesis of Epicycles. This was almost unavoidable. “We must admit,” says Copernicus28, “that the motions of the heavens are circular, or made up of several circles, since their variations follow a consistent pattern and repeat at certain intervals, which wouldn’t be possible if they weren’t circular: only a circle can cause a quantity to recur.” Similarly, the first publication of the Law of the Sines, the accurate formula for optical refraction, was presented by Descartes along with a hypothesis that claimed to explain the law. In such situations, simply comparing observations may take a long time before leading to the true formulas. The fringes of shadows and other diffracted colors were studied without success by Newton, Grimaldi, Comparetti, the elder Herschel, and Mr. Brougham, as long as these researchers only tried to identify the laws of the facts as they appeared on their own; while Young, Fresnel, Fraunhofer, Schwerdt, and others established these laws rigorously once they applied the Hypothesis of Interferences to their observations.
8. But with all the aid that Hypotheses and Calculation can afford, the construction of true formulæ, in 201 those cardinal discoveries by which the progress of science has mainly been caused, has been a matter of great labour and difficulty, and of good fortune added to sagacity. In the History of Science, we have seen how long and how hard Kepler laboured, before he converted the formula for the planetary motions, from an epicyclical combination, to a simple ellipse. The same philosopher, labouring with equal zeal and perseverance to discover the formula of optical refraction, which now appears to us so simple, was utterly foiled. Malus sought in vain the formula determining the Angle at which a transparent surface polarizes light: Sir D. Brewster29, with a happy sagacity, discovered the formula to be simply this, that the index of refraction is the tangent of the angle of polarization.
8. But despite all the help that hypotheses and calculations can provide, creating accurate formulas for those key discoveries that have primarily driven the advancement of science has required significant effort and challenges, along with a bit of luck and insight. In the History of Science, we've seen how long and hard Kepler worked before he transformed the formula for planetary motions from a complicated epicyclical model to a straightforward ellipse. The same philosopher, working with equal passion and determination to find the formula for optical refraction, which now seems so simple to us, was completely unsuccessful. Malus unsuccessfully searched for the formula that defines the angle at which a transparent surface polarizes light: Sir D. Brewster29, with his fortunate insight, discovered that the index of refraction is simply the tangent of the angle of polarization.
Though we cannot give rules which will be of much service when we have thus to divine the general form of the relation by which phenomena are connected, there are certain methods by which, in a narrower field, our investigations may be materially promoted;—certain special methods of obtaining laws from Observations. Of these we shall now proceed to treat.
Though we can't provide specific rules that will be very helpful when trying to understand the overall way that phenomena are connected, there are certain methods that can significantly advance our investigations in a more limited area; specific methods for deriving laws from observations. We will now discuss these.
CHAPTER VII.
Special Induction Methods for Quantity.
Aphorism XLIII.
Aphorism 43.
There are special Methods of Induction applicable to Quantity; of which the principal are, the Method of Curves, the Method of Means, the Method of Least Squares, and the Method of Residues.
There are specific methods of induction that apply to quantity, the main ones being the Method of Curves, the Method of Means, the Method of Least Squares, and the Method of Residues.
Aphorism XLIV.
Aphorism 44.
The Method of Curves consists in drawing a curve of which the observed quantities are the Ordinates, the quantity on which the change of these quantities depends being the Abscissa. The efficacy of this Method depends upon the faculty which the eye possesses, of readily detecting regularity and irregularity in forms. The Method may be used to detect the Laws which the observed quantities follow: and also, when the Observations are inexact, it may be used to correct these Observations, so as to obtain data more true than the observed facts themselves.
The Method of Curves involves drawing a curve where the observed values are the Y-values, and the factor that influences these values is the X-value. The effectiveness of this method relies on the eye's ability to quickly spot patterns and irregularities in shapes. This method can be used to identify the laws that the observed values adhere to, and when the observations are inaccurate, it can also be used to adjust these observations to produce data that is more accurate than the original facts themselves.
Aphorism XLV.
Aphorism 45.
The Method of Means gets rid of irregularities by taking the arithmetical mean of a great number of observed quantities. Its efficacy depends upon this; that in cases in which observed quantities are affected by other inequalities, besides that of which we wish to determine the law, the excesses above and defects below the quantities which the law in question would produce, will, in a collection of many observations, balance each other. 203
The Method of Means eliminates irregularities by calculating the average of a large number of observed values. Its effectiveness relies on the fact that when observed values are influenced by other inconsistencies, in addition to the one we're trying to determine the pattern of, the excesses above and deficiencies below the values that the relevant law would yield will, in a large set of observations, balance each other out. 203
Aphorism XLVI.
Aphorism 46.
The Method of Least Squares is a Method of Means, in which the mean is taken according to the condition, that the sum of the squares of the errours of observation shall be the least possible which the law of the facts allows. It appears, by the Doctrine of Chances, that this is the most probable mean.
The Method of Least Squares is a Method of Averages, where the average is calculated based on the rule that the total of the squared errors of observation should be as small as possible according to the data available. It is shown, through the Doctrine of Chances, that this is the most likely average.
Aphorism XLVII.
Aphorism 47.
The Method of Residues consists in subtracting, from the quantities given by Observation, the quantity given by any Law already discovered; and then examining the remainder, or Residue, in order to discover the leading Law which it follows. When this second Law has been discovered, the quantity given by it may be subtracted from the first Residue; thus giving a Second Residue, which may be examined in the same manner; and so on. The efficacy of this method depends principally upon the circumstance of the Laws of variation being successively smaller and smaller in amount (or at least in their mean effect); so that the ulterior undiscovered Laws do not prevent the Law in question from being prominent in the observations.
The Method of Residues involves subtracting, from the values obtained through Observation, the value determined by any already known Law; then analyzing the remainder, or Residue, to identify the main Law it adheres to. Once this second Law is identified, the value obtained from it can be subtracted from the first Residue; resulting in a Second Residue, which can be examined in the same way; and so forth. The effectiveness of this method mainly relies on the fact that the Laws of variation are progressively smaller in magnitude (or at least in their average impact); ensuring that any undiscovered Laws don't obscure the dominant Law present in the observations.
Aphorism XLVIII.
Aphorism 48.
The Method of Means and the Method of Least Squares cannot be applied without our knowing the Arguments of the Inequalities which we seek. The Method of Curves and the Method of Residues, when the Arguments of the principal Inequalities are known, often make it easy to find the others.
The Method of Means and the Method of Least Squares can't be used without knowing the Arguments of the Inequalities we’re looking for. The Method of Curves and the Method of Residues, when the Arguments of the main Inequalities are known, often make it easier to find the others.
IN cases where the phenomena admit of numerical
measurement and expression, certain mathematical methods
may be employed to facilitate and give
accuracy to the determination of the formula by which
the observations are connected into laws. Among the
most usual and important of these Methods are the
following:— 204
I. The Method of Curves.
II. The Method of Means.
III. The Method of Least Squares.
IV. The Method of Residues.
IN situations where the phenomena can be measured and expressed numerically, certain mathematical methods can be used to make it easier and more precise to determine the formula that connects the observations into laws. Among the most common and significant of these methods are the following:— 204
I. The Method of Curves.
II. The Method of Means.
III. The Method of Least Squares.
IV. The Method of Residues.
Sect. I.—The Method of Curves.
Section I.—The Curve Method.
1. The Method of Curves proceeds upon this basis; that when one quantity undergoes a series of changes depending on the progress of another quantity, (as, for instance, the Deviation of the Moon from her equable place depends upon the progress of Time,) this dependence may be expressed by means of a curve. In the language of mathematicians, the variable quantity, whose changes we would consider, is made the ordinate of the curve, and the quantity on which the changes depend is made the abscissa. In this manner, the curve will exhibit in its form a series of undulations, rising and falling so as to correspond with the alternate Increase and Diminution of the quantity represented, at intervals of Space which correspond to the intervals of Time, or other quantity by which the changes are regulated. Thus, to take another example, if we set up, at equal intervals, a series of ordinates representing the Height of all the successive High Waters brought by the tides at a given place, for a year, the curve which connects the summits of all these ordinates will exhibit a series of undulations, ascending and descending once in about each Fortnight; since, in that interval, we have, in succession, the high spring tides and the low neap tides. The curve thus drawn offers to the eye a picture of the order and magnitude of the changes to which the quantity under contemplation, (the height of high water,) is subject.
1. The Method of Curves is based on the idea that when one quantity changes through a series of variations dependent on another quantity's progress (like the Moon's deviation from its average position depending on the passage of Time), this relationship can be represented by a curve. In mathematical terms, the variable quantity we are examining becomes the ordinate of the curve, while the quantity that causes these changes is represented as the abscissa. This way, the curve displays a series of ups and downs that align with the alternating increases and decreases of the represented quantity, at intervals that relate to the corresponding intervals of Time or any other regulating quantity. For instance, if we create a series of ordinates at equal intervals to show the Height of all the consecutive High Waters caused by tides at a specific location over a year, the curve connecting the peaks of these ordinates will show a pattern of rising and falling approximately every two weeks. This is because, during that period, we experience high spring tides followed by low neap tides. The resulting curve gives a visual representation of the order and magnitude of changes the quantity in question (the height of high water) undergoes.
2. Now the peculiar facility and efficacy of the Method of Curves depends upon this circumstance;—that order and regularity are more readily and clearly recognized, when thus exhibited to the eye in a picture, than they are when presented to the mind in any other manner. To detect the relations of Number considered directly as Number, is not easy: and we might 205 contemplate for a long time a Table of recorded Numbers without perceiving the order of their increase and diminution, even if the law were moderately simple; as any one may satisfy himself by looking at a Tide Table. But if these Numbers are expressed by the magnitude of Lines, and if these Lines are arranged in regular order, the eye readily discovers the rule of their changes: it follows the curve which runs along their extremities, and takes note of the order in which its convexities and concavities succeed each other, if any order be readily discoverable. The separate observations are in this manner compared and generalized and reduced to rule by the eye alone. And the eye, so employed, detects relations of order and succession with a peculiar celerity and evidence. If, for example, we thus arrive as ordinates the prices of corn in each year for a series of years, we shall see the order, rapidity, and amount of the increase and decrease of price, far more clearly than in any other manner. And if there were any recurrence of increase and decrease at stated intervals of years, we should in this manner perceive it. The eye, constantly active and busy, and employed in making into shapes the hints and traces of form which it contemplates, runs along the curve thus offered to it; and as it travels backwards and forwards, is ever on the watch to detect some resemblance or contrast between one part and another. And these resemblances and contrasts, when discovered, are the images of Laws of Phenomena; which are made manifest at once by this artifice, although the mind could not easily catch the indications of their existence, if they were not thus reflected to her in the clear mirror of Space.
2. The unique effectiveness of the Method of Curves relies on this fact: order and regularity are more easily and clearly recognized when displayed visually in a picture than they are when presented mentally in any other way. It's not easy to identify the relationships of Numbers when looked at directly as Numbers; you could study a Table of recorded Numbers for a long time without noticing how they increase or decrease, even if the pattern is somewhat simple, as anyone can confirm by looking at a Tide Table. However, if these Numbers are represented by the size of Lines and these Lines are organized in a regular sequence, the eye quickly detects their changing patterns: it follows the curve along their ends and takes note of the order in which their bulges and dips occur, if any clear order can be recognized. In this way, individual observations are compared, generalized, and simplified by the eye alone. The eye, in this task, identifies patterns of order and sequence with remarkable speed and clarity. For example, if we plot the prices of corn over a series of years, we will see the order, speed, and magnitude of price changes much more clearly than through any other method. If there are recurring increases and decreases at set intervals of years, we would notice that too. The eye, constantly active and engaged, works to form shapes from the hints and traces of forms it observes, moving along the curve presented to it; as it goes back and forth, it is always alert to spot similarities or differences between sections. These similarities and differences, when identified, reflect the Laws of Phenomena; they are revealed immediately through this method, even though the mind might struggle to notice their existence without this clear reflection in the canvas of Space.
Thus when we have a series of good Observations, and know the argument upon which their change of magnitude depends, the Method of Curves enables us to ascertain, almost at a glance, the law of the change; and by further attention, may be made to give us a formula with great accuracy. The Method enables us to perceive, among our observations, an order, which without the method, is concealed in obscurity and perplexity. 206
So, when we have a series of good observations and understand the factors that influence their changes in size, the Method of Curves allows us to quickly identify the pattern of change. With some additional focus, it can provide us with a highly accurate formula. This method helps us to see an order among our observations that would otherwise remain hidden in confusion. 206
3. But the Method of Curves not only enables us to obtain laws of nature from good Observations, but also, in a great degree, from observations which are very imperfect. For the imperfection of observations may in part be corrected by this consideration;—that though they may appear irregular, the correct facts which they imperfectly represent, are really regular. And the Method of Curves enables us to remedy this apparent irregularity, at least in part. For when Observations thus imperfect are laid down as Ordinates, and their extremities connected by a line, we obtain, not a smooth and flowing curve, such as we should have if the observations contained only the rigorous results of regular laws; but a broken and irregular line, full of sudden and capricious twistings, and bearing on its face marks of irregularities dependent, not upon law, but upon chance. Yet these irregular and abrupt deviations in the curve are, in most cases, but small in extent, when compared with those bendings which denote the effects of regular law. And this circumstance is one of the great grounds of advantage in the Method of Curves. For when the observations thus laid down present to the eye such a broken and irregular line, we can still see, often with great ease and certainty, what twistings of the line are probably due to the irregular errours of observation; and can at once reject these, by drawing a more regular curve, cutting off all such small and irregular sinuosities, leaving some to the right and some to the left; and then proceeding as if this regular curve, and not the irregular one, expressed the observations. In this manner, we suppose the errours of observation to balance each other; some of our corrected measures being too great and others too small, but with no great preponderance either way. We draw our main regular curve, not through the points given by our observations, but among them: drawing it, as has been said by one of the philosophers30 who first systematically used this method, ‘with a bold but careful hand.’ 207 The regular curve which we thus obtain, thus freed from the casual errours of observation, is that in which we endeavour to discover the laws of change and succession.
3. But the Method of Curves not only allows us to derive laws of nature from good observations, but also, to a large extent, from observations that are quite imperfect. The flaws in observations can partly be corrected by considering that even if they seem irregular, the actual facts they imperfectly represent are generally regular. The Method of Curves helps us address this apparent irregularity, at least to some degree. When these imperfect observations are plotted as ordinates and connected with a line, we get a not smooth and flowing curve, unlike what we would have if the observations reflected only the strict results of regular laws; instead, we see a jagged and irregular line, marked by sudden and unpredictable twists, showing signs of irregularities caused not by law, but by chance. However, in most cases, these irregular and sharp deviations in the curve are relatively small compared to the bendings created by regular laws. This aspect is one of the key benefits of the Method of Curves. When the plotted observations present a broken and irregular line, we can usually discern, often quite easily and clearly, which twists of the line are likely due to the irregular errors of observation; we can then discard these by drawing a more regular curve, smoothing out any small, irregular bends, leaving some on the right and some on the left; then we proceed as if this regular curve, rather than the irregular one, represents the observations. In this way, we assume that the errors of observation counterbalance each other; some of our corrected measures are too high and others too low, but none greatly outweighs the others. We draw our main regular curve not through the points given by our observations, but among them: we draw it, as noted by one of the philosophers30 who first systematically applied this method, ‘with a bold but careful hand.’ 207 The regular curve we obtain, free from the random errors of observation, is the one in which we strive to uncover the laws of change and succession.
4. By this method, thus getting rid at once, in a great measure, of errours of observation, we obtain data which are more true than the individual facts themselves. The philosopher’s business is to compare his hypotheses with facts, as we have often said. But if we make the comparison with separate special facts, we are liable to be perplexed or misled, to an unknown amount, by the errours of observation; which may cause the hypothetical and the observed result to agree, or to disagree, when otherwise they would not do so. If, however, we thus take the whole mass of the facts, and remove the errours of actual observation31, by making the curve which expresses the supposed observation regular and smooth, we have the separate facts corrected by their general tendency. We are put in possession, as we have said, of something more true than any fact by itself is.
4. By using this method, we can largely eliminate errors in observation and obtain data that are more accurate than the individual facts themselves. The philosopher's role is to compare his hypotheses with facts, as we've mentioned before. However, if we compare with isolated specific facts, we might get confused or misled to an unknown degree by observation errors; this could make the hypothetical and observed results agree or disagree when they otherwise would not. If we take the whole body of facts and eliminate actual observation errors31, by creating a curve that represents the supposed observation smoothly and regularly, we can correct the individual facts based on their general trend. As we've said, we end up with something more accurate than any single fact on its own.
One of the most admirable examples of the use of this Method of Curves is found in Sir John Herschel’s Investigation of the Orbits of Double Stars32. The author there shows how far inferior the direct observations of the angle of position are, to the observations corrected by a curve in the manner above stated. ‘This curve once drawn,’ he says, ‘must represent, it is evident, the law of variation of the angle of position, with the time, not only for instants intermediate between the dates of observations, but even at the moments of observation themselves, much better than the individual raw observations can possibly (on an average) do. It is only requisite to try a case or two, to be satisfied that by substituting the curve for the points, we have made a nearer approach to nature, and in a great measure eliminated errours of observation.’ ‘In following the graphical process,’ he adds, ‘we have a conviction almost approaching to moral certainty that 208 we cannot be greatly misled.’ Again, having thus corrected the raw observations, he makes another use of the graphical method, by trying whether an ellipse can be drawn ‘if not through, at least among the points, so as to approach tolerably near them all; and thus approaching to the orbit which is the subject of investigation.’
One of the most impressive examples of using this Method of Curves is found in Sir John Herschel’s Investigation of the Orbits of Double Stars32. The author demonstrates how much less effective direct observations of the angle of position are compared to observations corrected by a curve, as mentioned earlier. “Once this curve is drawn,” he states, “it must clearly represent the law of variation of the angle of position over time, not just for the moments between the observation dates, but even at the observation times themselves, much better than individual raw observations can on average. It's only necessary to test a case or two to confirm that by replacing the points with the curve, we've gotten closer to reality and significantly reduced errors in observation.” “In following the graphical process,” he continues, “we are almost morally certain that 208 we cannot be greatly misled.” Furthermore, after correcting the raw observations, he applies the graphical method again by examining whether an ellipse can be drawn “if not through, at least among the points, in a way that gets reasonably close to all of them; thus approximating the orbit under investigation.”
5. The Obstacles which principally impede the application of the Method of Curves are (I.) our ignorance of the arguments of the changes, and (II.) the complication of several laws with one another.
5. The Obstacles that mainly block the use of the Method of Curves are (I.) our lack of understanding of the reasons behind the changes, and (II.) the complexity of multiple laws interacting with each other.
(I.) If we do not know on what quantity those changes depend which we are studying, we may fail entirely in detecting the law of the changes, although we throw the observations into curves. For the true argument of the change should, in fact, be made the abscissa of the curve. If we were to express, by a series of ordinates, the hour of high water on successive days, we should not obtain, or should obtain very imperfectly, the law which these times follow; for the real argument of this change is not the solar hour, but the hour at which the moon passes the meridian. But if we are supposed to be aware that this is the argument, (which theory suggests and trial instantly confirms) we then do immediately obtain the primary Rules of the Time of High Water, by throwing a series of observations into a Curve, with the Hour of the Moon’s Transit for the abscissa.
(I.) If we don’t know what quantity the changes we’re studying depend on, we might completely miss the law of those changes, even if we plot the observations on a graph. The actual argument of the change should really be the abscissa of the curve. If we were to represent, using a series of ordinates, the hour of high water on different days, we wouldn’t accurately capture, or would capture very poorly, the pattern that these times follow; because the true factor of this change isn’t the solar hour, but the hour when the moon crosses the meridian. However, if we recognize that this is the argument, (as theory suggests and experimentation quickly confirms), we can easily derive the main Rules for the Time of High Water by plotting a series of observations on a curve, using the Hour of the Moon’s Transit as the abscissa.
In like manner, when we have obtained the first great or Semi-mensual Inequality of the tides, if we endeavour to discover the laws of other Inequalities by means of curves, we must take from theory the suggestion that the Arguments of such inequalities will probably be the parallax and the declination of the moon. This suggestion again is confirmed by trial; but if we were supposed to be entirely ignorant of the dependence of the changes of the tide on the Distance and Declination of the moon, the curves would exhibit unintelligible and seemingly capricious changes. For by the effect of the Inequality arising from the Parallax, the convexities of the curves which belong to the 209 spring tides, are in some years made alternately greater and less all the year through; while in other years they are made all nearly equal. This difference does not betray its origin, till we refer it to the Parallax; and the same difficulty in proceeding would arise if we were ignorant that the moon’s Declination is one of the Arguments of tidal changes.
Similarly, once we’ve figured out the first major or semi-monthly inequality of the tides, if we try to identify the laws of other inequalities using curves, we should consider that the factors affecting these inequalities will likely be the parallax and the declination of the moon. This idea is confirmed through experiment; however, if we were completely unaware of how tidal changes depend on the moon's distance and declination, the curves would appear confusing and unpredictable. Due to the effects of the inequality caused by the parallax, the peaks of the curves associated with the 209 spring tides vary in size from year to year—sometimes larger, sometimes smaller—while in other years they remain fairly consistent. This variation doesn’t reveal its source until we link it to the parallax; and we would face a similar challenge if we didn’t know that the moon’s declination is one of the factors influencing tidal changes.
In like manner, if we try to reduce to law any meteorological changes, those of the Height of the Barometer for instance, we find that we can make little progress in the investigation, precisely because we do not know the Argument on which these changes depend. That there is a certain regular diurnal change of small amount, we know; but when we have abstracted this Inequality, (of which the Argument is the time of day,) we find far greater Changes left behind, from day to day and from hour to hour; and we express these in curves, but we cannot reduce them to Rule, because we cannot discover on what numerical quantity they depend. The assiduous study of barometrical observations, thrown into curves, may perhaps hereafter point out to us what are the relations of time and space by which these variations are determined; but in the mean time, this subject exemplifies to us our remark, that the method of curves is of comparatively small use, so long as we are in ignorance of the real Arguments of the Inequalities.
Similarly, if we try to establish a law for any weather changes, like the changes in barometric pressure, we realize that our progress in understanding them is limited because we don't know what causes these changes. We know there is a regular daily change, although it's small, but once we account for this daily variation (which is determined by the time of day), we still see much larger variations from day to day and hour to hour. We can represent these variations in curves, but we can’t create a reliable rule because we can’t figure out what numerical values they depend on. The thorough study of barometric observations, plotted in curves, might eventually help us understand the relationships of time and space that dictate these changes; however, for now, this topic illustrates our point that the method of curves is of limited use as long as we remain unaware of the true causes of the variations.
6. (II.) In the next place, I remark that a difficulty is thrown in the way of the Method of Curves by the Combination of several laws one with another. It will readily be seen that such a cause will produce a complexity in the curves which exhibit the succession of facts. If, for example, we take the case of the Tides, the Height of high water increases and diminishes with the Approach of the sun to, and its Recess from, the syzygies of the moon. Again, this Height increases and diminishes as the moon’s Parallax increases and diminishes; and again, the Height diminishes when the Declination increases, and vice versa; and all these Arguments of change, the Distance from Syzygy, the Parallax, the Declination, complete their circuit and 210 return into themselves in different periods. Hence the curve which represents the Height of high water has not any periodical interval in which it completes its changes and commences a new cycle. The sinuosity which would arise from each Inequality separately considered, interferes with, disguises, and conceals the others; and when we first cast our eyes on the curve of observation, it is very far from offering any obvious regularity in its form. And it is to be observed that we have not yet enumerated all the elements of this complexity: for there are changes of the tide depending upon the Parallax and Declination of the Sun as well as of the Moon. Again; besides these changes, of which the Arguments are obvious, there are others, as those depending upon the Barometer and the Wind, which follow no known regular law, and which constantly affect and disturb the results produced by other laws.
6. (II.) Next, I’d like to point out that a challenge arises for the Method of Curves due to the Combination of several laws with each other. It's clear that this will create a complexity in the curves that show the sequence of events. For instance, in the case of the tides, the height of high water increases and decreases with the sun’s approach and departure from the moon's syzygies. Additionally, this height varies with the moon’s parallax; it decreases when the declination increases, and vice versa; all these factors—distance from syzygy, parallax, declination—complete their cycles at different times. Therefore, the curve representing high water height doesn’t have a periodic interval that completes its changes and starts a new cycle. The variations produced by each inequality, when considered individually, interfere with, obscure, and hide the others; when we first look at the observed curve, it doesn’t show any obvious regularity in its shape. It's also important to note that we haven't yet listed all the elements contributing to this complexity: there are tide changes influenced by both the sun’s and moon’s parallax and declination. Furthermore, beyond these evident changes, there are other factors, such as those related to the barometer and wind, that don’t follow any known regular law and continuously affect and disrupt the outcomes generated by other laws.
In the Tides, and in like manner in the motions of the Moon, we have very eminent examples of the way in which the discovery of laws may be rendered difficult by the number of laws which operate to affect the same quantity. In such cases, the Inequalities are generally picked out in succession, nearly in the order of their magnitudes. In this way there were successively collected, from the study of the Moon’s motions by a series of astronomers, those Inequalities which we term the Equation of the Center, the Evection, the Variation, and the Annual Equation. These Inequalities were not, in fact, obtained by the application of the Method of Curves; but the Method of Curves might have been applied to such a case with great advantage. The Method has been applied with great industry and with remarkable success to the investigation of the laws of the Tides; and by the use of it, a series of Inequalities both of the Times and of the Heights of high water has been detected, which explain all the main features of the observed facts. 211
In the tides, and similarly in the movements of the Moon, we see prominent examples of how discovering laws can be complicated by the many factors that affect the same outcome. In these instances, the inequalities are typically identified in order of their sizes. This process led a series of astronomers to successively identify the inequalities we refer to as the Equation of the Center, the Evection, the Variation, and the Annual Equation. These inequalities weren’t actually found using the Method of Curves; however, this method could have been very useful in such cases. The Method has been diligently applied and has achieved notable success in examining the laws of the tides, revealing a series of inequalities in both the timing and heights of high water that explain all the main features of the observed data. 211
Sect. II.—The Method of Means.
Section II.—The Method of Means.
7. The Method of Curves, as we have endeavoured to explain above, frees us from the casual and extraneous irregularities which arise from the imperfection of observation; and thus lays bare the results of the laws which really operate, and enables us to proceed in search of those laws. But the Method of Curves is not the only one which effects such a purpose. The errours arising from detached observations may be got rid of, and the additional accuracy which multiplied observations give may be obtained, by operations upon the observed numbers, without expressing them by spaces. The process of curves assumes that the errours of observation balance each other;—that the accidental excesses and defects are nearly equal in amount;—that the true quantities which would have been observed if all accidental causes of irregularity were removed, are obtained, exactly or nearly, by selecting quantities, upon the whole, equally distant from the extremes of great and small, which our imperfect observations offer to us. But when, among a number of unequal quantities, we take a quantity equally distant from the greater and the smaller, this quantity is termed the Mean of the unequal quantities. Hence the correction of our observations by the method of curves consists in taking the Mean of the observations.
7. The Method of Curves, as we have tried to explain above, helps us eliminate the random and external irregularities that come from the imperfections in observation; it reveals the actual results of the laws at work and allows us to continue our search for those laws. But the Method of Curves isn't the only way to achieve this goal. We can eliminate the errors from individual observations and gain more accuracy from multiple observations by manipulating the observed numbers without needing to represent them spatially. The curve process assumes that the errors in observation offset each other—that the random highs and lows are roughly equal. The true quantities that would have been observed if all random factors were removed are achieved, either precisely or approximately, by choosing quantities that are, on average, equally distant from the highest and lowest extremes provided by our imperfect observations. When we select a quantity that is equally distant from the larger and smaller amounts among a set of unequal quantities, we call this quantity the Mean of those unequal quantities. Therefore, correcting our observations using the method of curves involves calculating the Mean of the observations.
8. Now without employing curves, we may proceed arithmetically to take the Mean of all the observed numbers of each class. Thus, if we wished to know the Height of the spring tide at a given place, and if we found that four different spring tides were measured as being of the height of ten, thirteen, eleven, and fourteen feet, we should conclude that the true height of the tide was the Mean of these numbers,—namely, twelve feet; and we should suppose that the deviation from this height, in the individual cases, arose from the accidents of weather, the imperfections of observation, or the operation of other laws, besides the alternation of spring and neap tides. 212
8. Now, without using curves, we can calculate the average of all the observed numbers in each category in a straightforward way. For example, if we want to find out the height of the spring tide at a certain location, and we see that four different spring tides were measured at ten, thirteen, eleven, and fourteen feet, we can conclude that the actual height of the tide is the average of these numbers—specifically, twelve feet. We would assume that any variation from this height in the individual measurements is due to weather conditions, the limitations of our observations, or other factors, in addition to the changes between spring and neap tides. 212
This process of finding the Mean of an assemblage of observed numbers is much practised in discovering, and still more in confirming and correcting, laws of phenomena. We shall notice a few of its peculiarities.
This process of calculating the mean of a set of observed numbers is widely used to discover, and even more so to confirm and correct, laws of phenomena. We'll highlight a few of its unique features.
9. The Method of Means requires a knowledge of the Argument of the changes which we would study; for the numbers must be arranged in certain Classes, before we find the Mean of each Class; and the principle on which this arrangement depends is the Argument. This knowledge of the Argument is more indispensably necessary in the Method of Means than in the Method of Curves; for when Curves are drawn, the eye often spontaneously detects the law of recurrence in their sinuosities; but when we have collections of Numbers, we must divide them into classes by a selection of our own. Thus, in order to discover the law which the heights of the tide follow, in the progress from spring to neap, we arrange the observed tides according to the day of the moon’s age; and we then take the mean of all those which thus happen at the same period of the Moon’s Revolution. In this manner we obtain the law which we seek; and the process is very nearly the same in all other applications of this Method of Means. In all cases, we begin by assuming the Classes of measures which we wish to compare, the Law which we could confirm or correct, the Formula of which we would determine the coefficients.
9. The Method of Means requires an understanding of the Argument behind the changes we want to study; the numbers need to be organized into specific Classes before we can find the Mean of each Class. The principle guiding this organization is the Argument. Knowing the Argument is even more crucial in the Method of Means compared to the Method of Curves; when Curves are plotted, our eyes often naturally pick up on the pattern of repetition in their curves. However, when dealing with collections of Numbers, we need to categorize them based on our own choices. For example, to uncover the pattern that the tide heights follow as they shift from spring to neap tides, we arrange the observed tides by the day of the moon’s age; then we calculate the mean of all those that occur at the same period of the Moon’s Revolution. This is how we derive the pattern we’re looking for, and the process is very similar for other applications of the Method of Means. In every case, we start by defining the Classes of measurements we want to compare, the Law we aim to confirm or adjust, and the Formula for which we want to determine the coefficients.
10. The Argument being thus assumed, the Method of Means is very efficacious in ridding our inquiry of errours and irregularities which would impede and perplex it. Irregularities which are altogether accidental, or at least accidental with reference to some law which we have under consideration, compensate each other in a very remarkable way, when we take the Means of many observations. If we have before us a collection of observed tides, some of them may be elevated, some depressed by the wind, some noted too high and some too low by the observer, some augmented and some diminished by uncontemplated changes in the moon’s distance or motion: but in the course of a year or two at the longest, all these causes of irregularity balance 213 each other; and the law of succession, which runs through the observations, comes out as precisely as if those disturbing influences did not exist. In any particular case, there appears to be no possible reason why the deviation should be in one way, or of one moderate amount, rather than another. But taking the mass of observations together, the deviations in opposite ways will be of equal amount, with a degree of exactness very striking. This is found to be the case in all inquiries where we have to deal with observed numbers upon a large scale. In the progress of the population of a country, for instance, what can appear more inconstant, in detail, than the causes which produce births and deaths? yet in each country, and even in each province of a country, the proportions of the whole numbers of births and deaths remain nearly constant. What can be more seemingly beyond the reach of rule than the occasions which produce letters that cannot find their destination? yet it appears that the number of ‘dead letters’ is nearly the same from year to year. And the same is the result when the deviations arise, not from mere accident, but from laws perfectly regular, though not contemplated in our investigation33. Thus the effects of the Moon’s Parallax upon the Tides, sometimes operating one way and sometimes another, according to certain rules, are quite eliminated by taking the Means of a long series of observations; the excesses and defects neutralizing each other, so far as concerns the effect upon any law of the tides which we would investigate.
10. With this argument established, the Method of Means is very effective in clearing our analysis of errors and inconsistencies that could confuse or hinder it. Accidental irregularities, or those that are accidental in relation to a specific law we are examining, tend to balance each other out in a notable way when we consider the Means of many observations. For instance, in a collection of observed tides, some may be raised, some lowered by the wind, some inaccurately reported too high and others too low by the observer, and some increased or decreased due to unexpected changes in the moon’s distance or movement: but over the course of a year or two at most, all these irregular causes cancel each other out; and the law of succession, which runs through the observations, emerges just as clearly as if those disruptive factors were absent. In any specific case, there seems to be no valid reason why the deviation should occur in one direction or by one moderate amount rather than another. However, when we look at the total mass of observations, the deviations in opposing directions tend to be of equal size, achieving a remarkable level of accuracy. This pattern is evident in all studies involving large-scale observed data. For example, in examining a country's population growth, what seems more unpredictable than the causes of births and deaths? Yet in each country, and even within each province, the ratios of total births and deaths remain fairly constant. What could appear more random than the reasons behind letters that cannot reach their destination? Yet it's found that the number of ‘dead letters’ remains relatively stable from year to year. The same holds true when the deviations occur not from pure chance but from perfectly regular laws that were not considered in our investigation33. Thus, the effects of the Moon’s Parallax on the Tides, sometimes influencing them one way and at other times another, according to certain rules, are effectively neutralized by taking the Means over an extended series of observations; the excesses and deficiencies offsetting each other regarding how they impact any tidal law we aim to examine.
11. In order to obtain very great accuracy, very large masses of observations are often employed by philosophers, and the accuracy of the result increases with the multitude of observations. The immense collections of astronomical observations which have in this manner been employed in order to form and correct the Tables of the celestial motions are perhaps the most signal instances of the attempts to obtain 214 accuracy by this accumulation of observations. Delambre’s Tables of the Sun are founded upon nearly 3000 observations; Burg’s Tables of the Moon upon above 4000.
11. To achieve very high accuracy, philosophers often use vast amounts of data, and the precision of the results improves with the increased number of observations. The huge collections of astronomical data used to create and refine the tables of celestial movements are perhaps the most notable examples of efforts to gain accuracy through gathering more observations. Delambre’s Tables of the Sun are based on nearly 3000 observations, while Burg’s Tables of the Moon are based on over 4000. 214
But there are other instances hardly less remarkable. Mr. Lubbock’s first investigations of the laws of the tides of London34, included above 13,000 observations, extending through nineteen years; it being considered that this large number was necessary to remove the effects of accidental causes35. And the attempts to discover the laws of change in the barometer have led to the performance of labours of equal amount: Laplace and Bouvard examined this question by means of observations made at the Observatory of Paris, four times every day for eight years.
But there are other instances that are almost equally remarkable. Mr. Lubbock's initial investigations into the tidal patterns of London34 included over 13,000 observations spanning nineteen years; this significant number was deemed necessary to counteract the effects of random factors35. Additionally, efforts to uncover the laws governing changes in the barometer have required similar extensive work: Laplace and Bouvard explored this matter through observations conducted at the Paris Observatory four times a day for eight years.
12. We may remark one striking evidence of the accuracy thus obtained by employing large masses of observations. In this way we may often detect inequalities much smaller than the errours by which they are encumbered and concealed. Thus the Diurnal Oscillations of the Barometer were discovered by the comparison of observations of many days, classified according to the hours of the day; and the result was a clear and incontestable proof of the existence of such oscillations although the differences which these oscillations produce at different hours of the day are far smaller than the casual changes, hitherto reduced to no law, which go on from hour to hour and from day to day. The effect of law, operating incessantly and steadily, makes itself more and more felt as we give it a longer range; while the effect of accident, followed out in the 215 same manner, is to annihilate itself, and to disappear altogether from the result.
12. One clear example of the accuracy we can achieve by using large sets of data is notable. By doing this, we can often identify variations that are much smaller than the errors that obscure them. For instance, the daily fluctuations of the barometer were discovered by comparing observations taken over many days, organized by the time of day. The outcome provided undeniable evidence of these fluctuations, even though the differences caused by them at different times are much less significant than the random changes, which had previously shown no pattern, that occur from hour to hour and day to day. The effect of a consistent pattern becomes increasingly noticeable as we observe it over a longer period, while the impact of random events, when tracked in the same way, tends to cancel itself out and completely vanish from the overall results.
Sect. III.—The Method of Least Squares.
Sect. III.—Least Squares Method.
13. The Method of Least Squares is in fact a method of means, but with some peculiar characters. Its object is to determine the best Mean of a number of observed quantities; or the most probable Law derived from a number of observations, of which some, or all, are allowed to be more or less imperfect. And the method proceeds upon this supposition;—that all errours are not equally probable, but that small errours are more probable than large ones. By reasoning mathematically upon this ground, we find that the best result is obtained (since we cannot obtain a result in which the errours vanish) by making, not the Errours themselves, but the Sum of their Squares, of the smallest possible amount.
13. The Method of Least Squares is actually a way to find averages, but it has some unique features. Its purpose is to determine the best Mean of several observed values or the most likely Law based on multiple observations, some or all of which may not be perfect. The method operates on the assumption that not all errors are equally likely, with smaller errors being more likely than larger ones. By reasoning mathematically from this basis, we find that the best outcome is achieved (since we cannot get a result where the errors disappear) by minimizing not the Errors themselves, but the Sum of their Squares, making it as small as possible.
14. An example may illustrate this. Let a quantity which is known to increase uniformly, (as the distance of a star from the meridian at successive instants,) be measured at equal intervals of time, and be found to be successively 4, 12, 14. It is plain, upon the face of these observations, that they are erroneous; for they ought to form an arithmetical progression, but they deviate widely from such a progression. But the question then occurs, what arithmetical progression do they most probably represent: for we may assume several arithmetical progressions which more or less approach the observed series; as for instance, these three; 4, 9, 14; 6, 10, 14; 5, 10, 15. Now in order to see the claims of each of these to the truth, we may tabulate them thus.
14. An example can help clarify this. Consider a quantity that is known to increase uniformly (like the distance of a star from the meridian at consistent intervals). If we measure this quantity at equal time intervals and find the results to be 4, 12, 14, it's clear from these observations that they are incorrect; they should form an arithmetic progression, but they deviate significantly from it. This raises the question of which arithmetic progression they most likely represent: we can assume several different arithmetic progressions that come closer to the observed series, such as these three: 4, 9, 14; 6, 10, 14; 5, 10, 15. To evaluate how each of these aligns with the truth, we can organize them in a table.
Observation | 4, 12, 14 | Errours | Sums of Errours | Sums of Squares of Errours |
---|---|---|---|---|
Series (1) | 4, 9, 14 | 0, 3, 0 | 3 | 9 |
〃 (2) | 6, 10, 14 | 2, 2, 0 | 4 | 8 |
〃 (3) | 5, 10, 15 | 1, 2, 1 | 4 | 6 |
Here, although the first series gives the sum of the 216 errours less than the others, the third series gives the sum of the squares of the errours least; and is therefore, by the proposition on which this Method depends, the most probable series of the three.
Here, while the first series has the smallest total of the errors compared to the others, the third series has the smallest total of the squares of the errors; and is therefore, based on the proposition that this Method relies on, the most probable series of the three.
This Method, in more extensive and complex cases, is a great aid to the calculator in his inferences from facts, and removes much that is arbitrary in the Method of Means.
This method, in more extensive and complex cases, is a great help to the calculator in drawing conclusions from facts, and eliminates much of the arbitrary nature found in the method of means.
Sect. IV.—The Method of Residues.
Sect. IV.—The Residue Method.
15. By either of the preceding Methods we obtain, from observed facts, such Laws as readily offer themselves; and by the Laws thus discovered, the most prominent changes of the observed quantities are accounted for. But in many cases we have, as we have noticed already, several Laws of nature operating at the same time, and combining their influences to modify those quantities which are the subjects of observation. In these cases we may, by successive applications of the Methods already pointed out, detect such Laws one after another: but this successive process, though only a repetition of what we have already described, offers some peculiar features which make it convenient to consider it in a separate Section, as the Method of Residues.
15. Using either of the methods mentioned earlier, we can gather laws from observed facts that become apparent. These laws help us explain the main changes in the quantities we observe. However, as we’ve noted before, there are often several natural laws working simultaneously, each affecting the quantities we are studying. In these situations, we can identify these laws one at a time by applying the methods we've discussed. While this step-by-step process is just a repetition of what we’ve already explained, it has some unique aspects that make it useful to discuss it in a separate section, referred to as the Method of Residues.
16. When we have, in a series of changes of a variable quantity, discovered one Law which the changes follow, detected its Argument, and determined its Magnitude, so as to explain most clearly the course of observed facts, we may still find that the observed changes are not fully accounted for. When we compare the results of our Law with the observations, there may be a difference, or as we may term it, a Residue, still unexplained. But this Residue being thus detached from the rest, may be examined and scrutinized in the same manner as the whole observed quantity was treated at first: and we may in this way detect in it also a Law of change. If we can do this, we must accommodate this new found Law as nearly as possible to the Residue to which it belongs; and 217 this being done, the difference of our Rule and of the Residue itself, forms a Second Residue. This Second Residue we may again bring under our consideration; and may perhaps in it also discover some Law of change by which its alterations may be in some measure accounted for. If this can be done, so as to account for a large portion of this Residue, the remaining unexplained part forms a Third Residue; and so on.
16. When we have discovered one Law that a variable quantity follows through a series of changes, identified its Argument, and defined its Magnitude to clearly explain most of the observed facts, we may still find that the observed changes aren't fully explained. When we compare our Law's results with the observations, there may be a discrepancy, or what we might call a Residue, that remains unexplained. However, this Residue can be examined and analyzed just like we initially treated the entire observed quantity: and in doing so, we might also identify a Law of change within it. If we can achieve this, we need to fit this newly discovered Law as closely as possible to the Residue it relates to; and 217 once this is done, the difference between our Rule and the Residue itself creates a Second Residue. We can then consider this Second Residue again; and perhaps in it we will also find some Law of change that accounts for its fluctuations to some extent. If we can do this in a way that accounts for a significant portion of this Residue, the part that remains unexplained will form a Third Residue; and so on.
17. This course has really been followed in various inquiries, especially in those of Astronomy and Tidology. The Equation of the Center, for the Moon, was obtained out of the Residue of the Longitude, which remained when the Mean Anomaly was taken away. This Equation being applied and disposed of, the Second Residue thus obtained, gave to Ptolemy the Evection. The Third Residue, left by the Equation of the Center and the Evection, supplied to Tycho the Variation and the Annual Equation. And the Residue, remaining from these, has been exhausted by other Equations, of various arguments, suggested by theory or by observation. In this case, the successive generations of astronomers have gone on, each in its turn executing some step in this Method of Residues. In the examination of the Tides, on the other hand, this method has been applied systematically and at once. The observations readily gave the Semimensual Inequality; the Residue of this supplied the corrections due to the Moon’s Parallax and Declination; and when these were determined, the remaining Residue was explored for the law of the Solar Correction.
17. This approach has really been used in various studies, especially in Astronomy and Tidology. The Equation of the Center for the Moon was derived from the Residue of the Longitude that was left after subtracting the Mean Anomaly. Once this Equation was applied and adjusted, the Second Residue obtained gave Ptolemy the Evection. The Third Residue, resulting from the Equation of the Center and the Evection, provided Tycho with the Variation and the Annual Equation. The Residue left from these has been further analyzed using additional Equations based on various theories or observations. In this way, successive generations of astronomers have each contributed a step in this Method of Residues. In the study of Tides, however, this method has been applied systematically and immediately. The observations easily revealed the Semimensual Inequality; the Residue from this provided the corrections related to the Moon’s Parallax and Declination; and once these were established, the remaining Residue was investigated for the law of the Solar Correction.
18. In a certain degree, the Method of Residues and the Method of Means are opposite to each other. For the Method of Residues extricates Laws from their combination, bringing them into view in succession; while the Method of Means discovers each Law, not by bringing the others into view, but by destroying their effect through an accumulation of observations. By the Method of Residues we should first extract the Law of the Parallax Correction of the Tides, and then, from the Residue left by this, obtain the Declination Correction. But we might at once employ the Method 218 of Means, and put together all the cases in which the Declination was the same; not allowing for the Parallax in each case, but taking for granted that the Parallaxes belonging to the same Declination would neutralize each other; as many falling above as below the mean Parallax. In cases like this, where the Method of Means is not impeded by a partial coincidence of the Arguments of different unknown Inequalities, it may be employed with almost as much success as the Method of Residues. But still, when the Arguments of the Laws are clearly known, as in this instance, the Method of Residues is more clear and direct, and is the rather to be recommended.
18. In some ways, the Method of Residues and the Method of Means are opposite to each other. The Method of Residues pulls laws apart from their combinations, revealing them one by one; while the Method of Means finds each law, not by showing the others, but by neutralizing their effects through a buildup of observations. Using the Method of Residues, we should first identify the Law of the Parallax Correction of the Tides, and then, from the remaining information, determine the Declination Correction. However, we could also use the Method 218 of Means right away, combining all cases where the Declination was the same; not accounting for the Parallax in each case, but assuming that the Parallaxes related to the same Declination would cancel each other out, since there are as many above as below the average Parallax. In situations like this, where the Method of Means isn't hindered by a partial overlap of different unknown Inequalities, it can be used with almost the same effectiveness as the Method of Residues. Nevertheless, when the factors influencing the laws are well understood, as in this case, the Method of Residues is clearer and more straightforward, and is the recommended approach.
19. If for example, we wish to learn whether the Height of the Barometer exerts any sensible influence on the Height of the Sea’s Surface, it would appear that the most satisfactory mode of proceeding, must be to subtract, in the first place, what we know to be the effects of the Moon’s Age, Parallax and Declination, and other ascertained causes of change; and to search in the unexplained Residue for the effects of barometrical pressure. The contrary course has, however, been adopted, and the effect of the Barometer on the ocean has been investigated by the direct application of the Method of Means, classing the observed heights of the water according to the corresponding heights of the Barometer without any previous reduction. In this manner, the suspicion that the tide of the sea is affected by the pressure of the atmosphere, has been confirmed. This investigation must be looked upon as a remarkable instance of the efficacy of the Method of Means, since the amount of the barometrical effect is much smaller than the other changes from among which it was by this process extricated. But an application of the Method of Residues would still be desirable on a subject of such extent and difficulty.
19. For example, if we want to find out if the height of the barometer has any real effect on the level of the sea, the best way to do this would be to first subtract what we know about the effects of the Moon's age, parallax, declination, and other known causes of change. Then, we would examine the unexplained residue for the effects of barometric pressure. However, the opposite approach has been taken, and the effect of the barometer on the ocean has been studied directly using the Method of Means, grouping the observed water levels according to the corresponding barometer heights without any prior adjustments. This method has supported the idea that sea tides are influenced by atmospheric pressure. This study is a notable example of how effective the Method of Means is, especially since the impact of barometric pressure is much smaller than the other changes from which it was separated using this approach. However, applying the Method of Residues would still be beneficial for a topic as vast and complex as this.
20. Sir John Herschel, in his Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy (Articles 158–161), has pointed out the mode of making discoveries by studying Residual Phenomena; and has given several illustrations of the process. In some of these, he has also 219 considered this method in a wider sense than we have done; treating it as not applicable to quantity only, but to properties and relations of different kinds.
20. Sir John Herschel, in his Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy (Articles 158–161), has highlighted the way to make discoveries by examining residual phenomena and has provided several examples of the process. In some of these, he has also 219 looked at this method more broadly than we have, considering it not only relevant to quantity but also to various properties and relationships.
We likewise shall proceed to offer a few remarks on Methods of Induction applicable to other relations than those of quantity.
We will also share some thoughts on methods of induction that apply to relationships beyond just quantity.
CHAPTER VIII.
Methods of Induction Based on Similarity.
Aphorism XLIX.
Aphorism 49.
The Law of Continuity is this:—that a quantity cannot pass from one amount to another by any change of conditions, without passing through all intermediate magnitudes according to the intermediate conditions. This Law may often be employed to disprove distinctions which have no real foundation.
The Law of Continuity states that a quantity can’t move from one amount to another due to a change in conditions without going through all the values in between based on the intermediate conditions. This law can often be used to challenge distinctions that lack a real basis.
Aphorism L.
Aphorism L.
The Method of Gradation consists in taking a number of stages of a property in question, intermediate between two extreme cases which appear to be different. This Method is employed to determine whether the extreme cases are really distinct or not.
The Method of Gradation involves taking several stages of a property in question that fall between two extreme cases that seem different. This Method is used to figure out whether the extreme cases are truly distinct or not.
Aphorism LI.
Aphorism 51.
The Method of Gradation, applied to decide the question, whether the existing geological phenomena arise from existing causes, leads to this result:—That the phenomena do appear to arise from Existing Causes, but that the action of existing causes may, in past times, have transgressed, to any extent, their recorded limits of intensity.
The Method of Gradation, used to determine whether current geological phenomena come from current causes, leads to this conclusion:—The phenomena do seem to come from existing causes, but the effects of these causes may, in the past, have exceeded their recorded limits of intensity.
Aphorism LII.
Aphorism 52.
The Method of Natural Classification consists in classing cases, not according to any assumed Definition, but according to the connexion of the facts themselves, so as to make them the means of asserting general truths. 221
The Method of Natural Classification involves categorizing cases, not based on any assumed definition, but rather on the connection of the facts themselves, allowing them to serve as a basis for establishing general truths. 221
Sect. I.—The Law of Continuity.
Sect. I.—The Law of Continuity.
1. THE Law of Continuity is applicable to quantity primarily, and therefore might be associated with the methods treated of in the last chapter: but inasmuch as its inferences are made by a transition from one degree to another among contiguous cases, it will be found to belong more properly to the Methods of Induction of which we have now to speak.
THE Law of Continuity mainly applies to quantity and can be linked to the methods discussed in the last chapter. However, since its conclusions are drawn by moving from one degree to another in similar cases, it is more appropriately associated with the Methods of Induction that we are about to discuss.
The Law of Continuity consists in this proposition,—That a quantity cannot pass from one amount to another by any change of conditions, without passing through all intermediate degrees of magnitude according to the intermediate conditions. And this law may often be employed to correct inaccurate inductions, and to reject distinctions which have no real foundation in nature. For example, the Aristotelians made a distinction between motions according to nature, (as that of a body falling vertically downwards,) and motions contrary to nature, (as that of a body moving along a horizontal plane:) the former, they held, became naturally quicker and quicker, the latter naturally slower and slower. But to this it might be replied, that a horizontal line may pass, by gradual motion, through various inclined positions, to a vertical position: and thus the retarded motion may pass into the accelerated; and hence there must be some inclined plane on which the motion downwards is naturally uniform: which is false, and therefore the distinction of such kinds of motion is unfounded. Again, the proof of the First Law of Motion depends upon the Law of Continuity: for since, by diminishing the resistance to a body moving on a horizontal plane, we diminish the retardation, and this without limit, the law of continuity will bring us at the same time to the case of no resistance and to the case of no retardation.
The Law of Continuity states that a quantity cannot change from one value to another without passing through all the values in between, based on the conditions present. This law can often help correct inaccurate conclusions and dismiss distinctions that don't have a real basis in nature. For instance, Aristotle’s followers drew a line between natural motions (like a body falling straight down) and unnatural motions (like a body sliding on a flat surface), claiming that the former naturally speeds up while the latter naturally slows down. However, one could argue that a horizontal line can gradually tilt to become vertical, meaning that a slowing motion can transition into a speeding one; therefore, there must be some angle where downward motion happens at a constant speed, which is incorrect, making the distinction between these types of motion invalid. Additionally, the proof of the First Law of Motion relies on the Law of Continuity: whenever we reduce the resistance acting on an object moving on a horizontal surface, we decrease the deceleration, and this can continue indefinitely, leading us to scenarios with no resistance and no deceleration at the same time.
2. The Law of Continuity is asserted by Galileo in a particular application; and the assertion which it 222 suggests is by him referred to Plato;—namely36 that a moveable body cannot pass from rest to a determinate degree of velocity without passing through all smaller degrees of velocity. This law, however, was first asserted in a more general and abstract form by Leibnitz37: and was employed by him to show that the laws of motion propounded by Descartes must be false. The Third Cartesian Law of Motion was this38: that when one moving body meets another, if the first body have a less momentum than the second, it will be reflected with its whole motion: but if the first have a greater momentum than the second, it will lose a part of its motion, which it will transfer to the second. Now each of these cases leads, by the Law of Continuity, to the case in which the two bodies have equal momentums: but in this case, by the first part of the law the body would retain all its motion; and by the second part of the law it would lose a portion of it: hence the Cartesian Law is false.
2. The Law of Continuity is put forward by Galileo in a specific context, and he links it to Plato by suggesting that a moving object cannot jump from being at rest to a specific speed without going through all the slower speeds first. However, Leibnitz first stated this law in a more general and abstract way and used it to demonstrate that Descartes' laws of motion must be incorrect. The Third Cartesian Law of Motion states that when one moving object collides with another, if the first object has less momentum than the second, it will bounce back with all its motion. But if the first has more momentum than the second, it will lose some of its motion, transferring it to the second object. Now, each of these scenarios leads, according to the Law of Continuity, to the situation where both objects have equal momentums. However, in this case, according to the first part of the law, the object would retain all of its motion, and by the second part, it would lose some of it. Therefore, the Cartesian Law is false.
3. I shall take another example of the application of this Law from Professor Playfair’s Dissertation on the History of Mathematical and Physical Science39. ‘The Academy of Sciences at Paris having (in 1724) proposed, as a Prize Question, the Investigation of the Laws of the Communication of Motion, John Bernoulli presented an Essay on the subject very ingenious and profound; in which, however, he denied the existence of hard bodies, because in the collision of such bodies, a finite change of motion must take place in an instant: an event which, on the principle just explained, he maintained to be impossible.’ And this reasoning was justifiable: for we can form a continuous transition from cases in which the impact manifestly occupies a finite time, (as when we strike a large soft body) to cases in which it is apparently instantaneous. Maclaurin and others are disposed, in order to avoid the conclusion of Bernoulli, to reject the Law of 223 Continuity. This, however, would not only be, as Playfair says, to deprive ourselves of an auxiliary, commonly useful though sometimes deceptive; but what is much worse, to acquiesce in false propositions, from the want of clear and patient thinking. For the Law of Continuity, when rightly interpreted, is never violated in actual fact. There are not really any such bodies as have been termed perfectly hard: and if we approach towards such cases, we must learn the laws of motion which rule them by attending to the Law of Continuity, not by rejecting it.
3. Let me give another example of this Law from Professor Playfair’s Dissertation on the History of Mathematical and Physical Science39. "The Academy of Sciences in Paris proposed, in 1724, an essay contest on the Investigation of the Laws of Motion. John Bernoulli submitted a very clever and insightful essay on the topic, in which he argued against the existence of hard bodies. He claimed that during a collision of such bodies, a finite change of motion would have to happen instantly, which, according to the principle previously explained, he believed is impossible." This reasoning is valid, because we can observe a continuous transition from situations where the impact clearly takes some time (like when we hit a large soft object) to situations where it seems instantaneous. Maclaurin and others tend to reject the Law of 223 Continuity to avoid Bernoulli's conclusion. However, as Playfair points out, this would mean denying ourselves a helpful tool, which can be useful even if sometimes misleading. Even worse, it would lead us to accept incorrect ideas due to a lack of clear and careful thought. In reality, the Law of Continuity is never violated. There are no truly perfectly hard bodies; and as we approach such cases, we need to understand the motion laws governing them by adhering to the Law of Continuity rather than rejecting it.
4. Newton used the Law of Continuity to suggest, but not to prove, the doctrine of universal gravitation. Let, he said, a terrestrial body be carried as high as the moon: will it not still fall to the earth? and does not the moon fall by the same force40? Again: if any one says that there is a material ether which does not gravitate41, this kind of matter, by condensation, may be gradually transmuted to the density of the most intensely gravitating bodies: and these gravitating bodies, by taking the internal texture of the condensed ether, may cease to gravitate; and thus the weight of bodies depends, not on their quantity of matter, but on their texture; which doctrine Newton conceived he had disproved by experiment.
4. Newton used the Law of Continuity to propose, but not to prove, the idea of universal gravitation. He asked, if a terrestrial body is lifted as high as the moon, will it not still fall to the earth? And doesn’t the moon fall due to the same force40? Furthermore, if someone claims that there is a material ether that doesn’t gravitate41, this kind of matter could, through condensation, gradually change to the density of the most strongly gravitating bodies: and these gravitating bodies, by adopting the internal structure of the condensed ether, might stop gravitating; thus, the weight of bodies relies not on their amount of matter, but on their structure, a theory Newton believed he had disproven through experimentation.
5. The evidence of the Law of Continuity resides in the universality of those Ideas, which enter into our apprehension of Laws of Nature. When, of two quantities, one depends upon the other, the Law of Continuity necessarily governs this dependence. Every philosopher has the power of applying this law, in proportion as he has the faculty of apprehending the Ideas which he employs in his induction, with the same clearness and steadiness which belong to the fundamental ideas of Quantity, Space and Number. To those who possess this faculty, the Law is a Rule of very wide and decisive application. Its use, as has appeared in the above examples, is seen rather in the disproof of erroneous views, and in the correction of false propositions, 224 than in the invention of new truths. It is a test of truth, rather than an instrument of discovery.
5. The proof of the Law of Continuity lies in the universal nature of the Ideas that contribute to our understanding of the Laws of Nature. When one quantity depends on another, the Law of Continuity governs that dependence. Every philosopher can apply this law to the extent that they can clearly and consistently grasp the Ideas they use in their reasoning, similar to how they understand fundamental concepts like Quantity, Space, and Number. For those who have this ability, the Law serves as a valuable guideline with broad and significant applications. As shown in the previous examples, its effectiveness is more about disproving incorrect beliefs and correcting false statements than about discovering new truths. It acts as a measure of truth instead of a tool for discovery. 224
Methods, however, approaching very near to the Law of Continuity may be employed as positive means of obtaining new truths; and these I shall now describe.
Methods, however, that come very close to the Law of Continuity can be used as effective ways to discover new truths; and I will now describe them.
Sect. II.—The Method of Gradation.
Section II.—The Method of Gradation.
6. To gather together the cases which resemble each other, and to separate those which are essentially distinct, has often been described as the main business of science; and may, in a certain loose and vague manner of speaking, pass for a description of some of the leading procedures in the acquirement of knowledge. The selection of instances which agree, and of instances which differ, in some prominent point or property, are important steps in the formation of science. But when classes of things and properties have been established in virtue of such comparisons, it may still be doubtful whether these classes are separated by distinctions of opposites, or by differences of degree. And to settle such questions, the Method of Gradation is employed; which consists in taking intermediate stages of the properties in question, so as to ascertain by experiment whether, in the transition from one class to another, we have to leap over a manifest gap, or to follow a continuous road.
6. Gathering together similar cases and separating those that are fundamentally different has often been called the core function of science. In a somewhat informal way, this can be seen as a description of some key methods in gaining knowledge. Choosing examples that are alike and those that vary in a significant way is an important part of developing science. However, once categories of things and their properties are created through such comparisons, it can still be unclear whether these categories are defined by absolute oppositions or by differences in degree. To address these questions, the Method of Gradation is used, which involves taking intermediate stages of the properties in question to determine through experimentation whether moving from one category to another requires a significant jump or if it follows a continuous path.
7. Thus for instance, one of the early Divisions established by electrical philosophers was that of Electrics and Conductors. But this division Dr. Faraday has overturned as an essential opposition. He takes42 a Gradation which carries him from Conductors to Non-conductors. Sulphur, or Lac, he says, are held to be non-conductors, but are not rigorously so. Spermaceti is a bad conductor: ice or water better than spermaceti: metals so much better that they are put in a different class. But even in metals the transit of the electricity is not instantaneous: we have in them proof of a retardation of the electric current: ‘and what 225 reason,” Mr. Faraday asks, “why this retardation should not be of the same kind as that in spermaceti, or in lac, or sulphur? But as, in them, retardation is insulation, [and insulation is induction43] why should we refuse the same relation to the same exhibitions of force in the metals?”
7. For example, one of the early Divisions created by electrical thinkers was that of Electrics and Conductors. However, Dr. Faraday has challenged this division as a fundamental distinction. He presents a Gradation that ranges from Conductors to Non-conductors. Sulphur or Lac, he claims, are considered non-conductors, but not strictly so. Spermaceti is a poor conductor: ice or water conducts electricity better than spermaceti; metals conduct much better, putting them in a separate category. Yet, even in metals, the flow of electricity isn't instantaneous: we see a delay in the electric current in them: ‘And what 225 reason,” Mr. Faraday asks, “is there for this delay not to be similar to that in spermaceti, or in lac, or in sulphur? But as, in these materials, delay represents insulation, [and insulation is induction 43] why should we deny that the same relationship exists for the same displays of force in metals?”
The process employed by the same sagacious philosopher to show the identity of Voltaic and Franklinic electricity, is another example of the same kind44. Machine [Franklinic] electricity was made to exhibit the same phenomena as Voltaic electricity, by causing the discharge to pass through a bad conductor, into a very extensive discharging train: and thus it was clearly shown that Franklinic electricity, not so conducted, differs from the other kinds, only in being in a state of successive tension and explosion instead of a state of continued current.
The method used by the wise philosopher to demonstrate the identity of Voltaic and Franklinic electricity is another example of the same type44. Machine [Franklinic] electricity was made to show the same phenomena as Voltaic electricity by allowing the discharge to pass through a poor conductor into a very large discharging train. This clearly showed that Franklinic electricity, when not conducted this way, differs from the other types only in being in a state of repeated tension and explosion rather than a state of continuous current.
Again; to show that the decomposition of bodies in the Voltaic circuit was not due to the Attraction of the Poles45, Mr. Faraday devised a beautiful series of experiments, in which these supposed Poles were made to assume all possible electrical conditions:—in some cases the decomposition took place against air, which according to common language is not a conductor, nor is decomposed;—in others, against the metallic poles, which are excellent conductors but undecomposable;—and so on: and hence he infers that the decomposition cannot justly be considered as due to the Attraction, or Attractive Powers, of the Poles.
Again, to demonstrate that the breakdown of substances in the Voltaic circuit was not due to the Attraction of the Poles45, Mr. Faraday designed an impressive series of experiments where these supposed Poles were exposed to all possible electrical conditions:—in some instances, the breakdown occurred in air, which, by common standards, isn't a conductor and doesn't decompose;—in others, it happened against metallic poles, which are great conductors but don't decompose;—and so on: and from this, he concludes that the breakdown cannot fairly be attributed to the Attraction, or Attractive Powers, of the Poles.
8. The reader of the Novum Organon may perhaps, in looking at such examples of the Rule, be reminded of some of Bacon’s Classes of Instances, as his instantiæ absentiæ in proximo, and his instantiæ migrantes. But we may remark that Instances classed and treated as Bacon recommends in those parts of his work, could hardly lead to scientific truth. His 226 processes are vitiated by his proposing to himself the form or cause of the property before him, as the object of his inquiry; instead of being content to obtain, in the first place, the law of phenomena. Thus his example46 of a Migrating Instance is thus given. “Let the Nature inquired into be that of Whiteness; an Instance Migrating to the production of this property is glass, first whole, and then pulverized; or plain water, and water agitated into a foam; for glass and water are transparent, and not white; but glass powder and foam are white, and not transparent. Hence we must inquire what has happened to the glass or water in that Migration. For it is plain that the Form of Whiteness is conveyed and induced by the crushing of the glass and shaking of the water.” No real knowledge has resulted from this line of reasoning:—from taking the Natures and Forms of things and of their qualities for the primary subject of our researches.
8. The reader of the Novum Organon may find that looking at such examples of the Rule reminds them of some of Bacon’s Classes of Instances, like his instantiæ absentiæ in proximo and his instantiæ migrantes. However, it’s worth noting that the Instances categorized and analyzed the way Bacon suggests in those parts of his work are unlikely to lead to scientific truth. His methods are flawed because he focuses on the form or cause of the property in question as the goal of his inquiry, rather than being satisfied with first discovering the law of phenomena. Thus, his example of a Migrating Instance is given as follows: “Let the Nature inquired into be that of Whiteness; an Instance Migrating to the production of this property is glass, first whole, and then crushed; or plain water, and water agitated into foam; for glass and water are transparent, not white; but glass powder and foam are white, not transparent. Therefore, we must investigate what has happened to the glass or water during that Migration. It’s clear that the Form of Whiteness is brought about by crushing the glass and shaking the water.” No real understanding has come from this kind of reasoning: from treating the Natures and Forms of things and their qualities as the main focus of our studies.
9. We may easily give examples from other subjects in which the Method of Gradation has been used to establish, or to endeavour to establish, very extensive propositions. Thus Laplace’s Nebular Hypothesis,—that systems like our solar system are formed by gradual condensation from diffused masses, such as the nebulæ among the stars,—is founded by him upon an application of this Method of Gradation. We see, he conceives, among these nebulæ, instances of all degrees of condensation, from the most loosely diffused fluid, to that separation and solidification of parts by which suns, and satellites, and planets are formed: and thus we have before us instances of systems in all their stages; as in a forest we see trees in every period of growth. How far the examples in this case satisfy the demands of the Method of Gradation, it remains for astronomers and philosophers to examine.
9. We can easily give examples from other subjects where the Method of Gradation has been used to establish, or try to establish, very broad propositions. For instance, Laplace’s Nebular Hypothesis—that systems like our solar system form through the gradual condensation of diffuse masses, like the nebulas among the stars—is based on applying this Method of Gradation. He believes that among these nebulas, we can observe examples of all degrees of condensation, from the most loosely spread out material to the separation and solidification of parts that form suns, satellites, and planets. This gives us examples of systems at all their stages, just like in a forest where we see trees at every stage of growth. Whether these examples meet the standards of the Method of Gradation is something for astronomers and philosophers to explore.
Again; this method was used with great success by Macculloch and others to refute the opinion, put in currency by the Wernerian school of geologists, that 227 the rocks called trap rocks must be classed with those to which a sedimentary origin is ascribed. For it was shown that a gradual transition might be traced from those examples in which trap rocks most resembled stratified rocks, to the lavas which have been recently ejected from volcanoes: and that it was impossible to assign a different origin to one portion, and to the other, of this kind of mineral masses; and as the volcanic rocks were certainly not sedimentary, it followed, that the trap rocks were not of that nature.
Again, this method was successfully used by Macculloch and others to challenge the belief promoted by the Wernerian school of geologists that the rocks known as trap rocks should be classified alongside those with a sedimentary origin. It was demonstrated that a gradual transition could be traced from examples where trap rocks most resembled stratified rocks, to the lavas that have recently erupted from volcanoes. It was impossible to attribute a different origin to one part of these mineral masses compared to another; and since the volcanic rocks were definitely not sedimentary, it followed that the trap rocks were not of that type either.
Again; we have an attempt of a still larger kind made by Sir C. Lyell, to apply this Method of Gradation so as to disprove all distinction between the causes by which geological phenomena have been produced, and the causes which are now acting at the earth’s surface. He has collected a very remarkable series of changes which have taken place, and are still taking place, by the action of water, volcanoes, earthquakes, and other terrestrial operations; and he conceives he has shown in these a gradation which leads, with no wide chasm or violent leap, to the state of things of which geological researches have supplied the evidence.
Once again, Sir C. Lyell is making a significant effort to use the Method of Gradation to argue that there's no real difference between the causes of geological phenomena in the past and those currently acting on the Earth's surface. He has gathered an impressive collection of changes that have occurred and continue to occur due to the actions of water, volcanoes, earthquakes, and other geological processes. He believes he has demonstrated a gradation that leads smoothly, without a big gap or sudden jump, to the conditions evidenced by geological research.
10. Of the value of this Method in geological speculations, no doubt can be entertained. Yet it must still require a grave and profound consideration, in so vast an application of the Method as that attempted by Sir C. Lyell, to determine what extent we may allow to the steps of our gradation; and to decide how far the changes which have taken place in distant parts of the series may exceed those of which we have historical knowledge, without ceasing to be of the same kind. Those who, dwelling in a city, see, from time to time, one house built and another pulled down, may say that such existing causes, operating through past time, sufficiently explain the existing condition of the city. Yet we arrive at important political and historical truths, by considering the origin of a city as an event of a different order from those daily changes. The causes which are now working to produce geological results, may be supposed to have been, at some former epoch, so far exaggerated in their operation, that the changes 228 should be paroxysms, not degrees;—that they should violate, not continue, the gradual series. And we have no kind of evidence whether the duration of our historical times is sufficient to give us a just measure of the limits of such degrees;—whether the terms which we have under our notice enable us to ascertain the average rate of progression.
10. There’s no doubt about the value of this method in geological discussions. However, it still requires serious and deep consideration, especially on the large scale that Sir C. Lyell attempted, to determine how far we can apply the concept of gradation and to decide how much the changes that happened in faraway parts of the series may exceed those we have historical knowledge of, without stopping being of the same kind. People living in a city may observe, from time to time, one house being built and another being torn down, leading them to think that such existing causes, working over time, adequately explain the current state of the city. Yet, we can uncover important political and historical truths by looking at the origin of a city as something of a different order than those everyday changes. The forces that are currently producing geological results may have been so intensified in the past that the changes should be seen as major upheavals rather than gradual shifts; they may disrupt rather than continue the gradual series. And we have no evidence to know whether the span of our historical times is enough to give us a true measure of the limits of such changes;—whether the terms we are considering allow us to determine the average rate of progression.
11. The result of such considerations seems to be this:—that we may apply the Method of Gradation in the investigation of geological causes, provided we leave the Limits of the Gradation undefined. But, then, this is equivalent to the admission of the opposite hypothesis: for a continuity of which the successive intervals are not limited, is not distinguishable from discontinuity. The geological sects of recent times have been distinguished as uniformitarians and catastrophists: the Method of Gradation seems to prove the doctrine of the uniformitarians; but then, at the same time that it does this, it breaks down the distinction between them and the catastrophists.
11. It seems that the outcome of these considerations is this: we can use the Method of Gradation to explore geological causes, as long as we keep the limits of the Gradation undefined. However, this essentially means accepting the opposite hypothesis; because a continuity where the successive intervals aren’t defined is indistinguishable from discontinuity. Recent geological groups have been categorized as uniformitarians and catastrophists: the Method of Gradation appears to support the uniformitarians' theory; yet, at the same time, it undermines the distinction between them and the catastrophists.
There are other exemplifications of the use of gradations in Science which well deserve notice: but some of them are of a kind somewhat different, and may be considered under a separate head.
There are other examples of the use of gradations in science that definitely deserve attention; however, some of them are a bit different and can be categorized separately.
Sect. III. The Method of Natural Classification.
Sect. III. The Natural Classification Method.
12. The Method of Natural Classification consists, as we have seen, in grouping together objects, not according to any selected properties, but according to their most important resemblances; and in combining such grouping with the assignation of certain marks of the classes thus formed. The examples of the successful application of this method are to be found in the Classificatory Sciences through their whole extent; as, for example, in framing the Genera of plants and animals. The same method, however, may often be extended to other sciences. Thus the classification of Crystalline Forms, according to their Degree of Symmetry, (which is really an important distinction,) as introduced by Mohs and Weiss, was a great improvement 229 upon Haüy’s arbitrary division according to certain assumed primary forms. Sir David Brewster was led to the same distinction of crystals by the study of their optical properties; and the scientific value of the classification was thus strongly exhibited. Mr. Howard’s classification of Clouds appears to be founded in their real nature, since it enables him to express the laws of their changes and successions. As we have elsewhere said, the criterion of a true classification is, that it makes general propositions possible. One of the most prominent examples of the beneficial influence of a right classification, is to be seen in the impulse given to geology by the distinction of strata according to the organic fossils which they contain47: which, ever since its general adoption, has been a leading principle in the speculations of geologists.
12. The Method of Natural Classification, as we've seen, involves grouping objects together not based on selected properties but on their most significant similarities. This grouping is paired with assigning certain labels to the classes formed. Successful examples of this method can be found throughout the Classificatory Sciences, such as in creating the Genera of plants and animals. However, this approach can often be applied to other sciences as well. For instance, the classification of Crystalline Forms based on their Degree of Symmetry—which is an important distinction—introduced by Mohs and Weiss, significantly improved upon Haüy’s arbitrary division based on certain assumed primary forms. Sir David Brewster found the same distinction in crystals by studying their optical properties, which highlighted the scientific value of the classification. Mr. Howard’s classification of Clouds seems to be based on their true nature, allowing him to express the laws of their changes and sequences. As we have mentioned elsewhere, a true classification's criterion is that it enables general propositions. One of the most obvious examples of the positive impact of a correct classification is the boost it gave to geology by distinguishing strata based on the organic fossils they contain: which, since its widespread adoption, has been a key principle in geologists' theories.
13. The mode in which, in this and in other cases, the Method of Natural Classification directs the researches of the philosopher, is this:—his arrangement being adopted, at least as an instrument of inquiry and trial, he follows the course of the different members of the classification, according to the guidance which Nature herself offers; not prescribing beforehand the marks of each part, but distributing the facts according to the total resemblances, or according to those resemblances which he finds to be most important. Thus, in tracing the course of a series of strata from place to place, we identify each stratum, not by any single character, but by all taken together;—texture, colour, fossils, position, and any other circumstances which offer themselves. And if, by this means, we come to ambiguous cases, where different indications appear to point different ways, we decide so as best to preserve undamaged those general relations and truths which constitute the value of our system. Thus although we consider the organic fossils in each stratum as its most important characteristic, we are not prevented, by the disappearance of some fossils, or the addition of others, or by the total absence of fossils, 230 from identifying strata in distant countries, if the position and other circumstances authorize us to do so. And by this Method of Classification, the doctrine of Geological Equivalents48 has been applied to a great part of Europe.
13. The way in which the Method of Natural Classification guides researchers, both in this and other instances, is as follows: once its system is used as a tool for exploration and testing, the philosopher follows the paths of the various elements of the classification based on the guidance that Nature provides. He doesn’t set the criteria for each part in advance, but instead organizes the facts according to overall similarities or those similarities he considers most significant. So, when we trace a series of rock layers from one location to another, we identify each layer not by a single feature but by the combination of all its attributes—texture, color, fossils, position, and other relevant factors. If we encounter ambiguous situations where different signs seem to suggest different conclusions, we make decisions that best maintain the overall relationships and truths that give our system its value. Therefore, even though we regard the organic fossils in each layer as the most significant traits, we don’t let the loss of some fossils, the addition of others, or the complete absence of fossils stop us from recognizing layers in distant regions, as long as the position and other relevant factors support that identification. This Method of Classification has led to the application of the concept of Geological Equivalents48 in much of Europe.
14. We may further observe, that the same method of natural classification which thus enables us to identify strata in remote situations, notwithstanding that there may be great differences in their material and contents, also forbids us to assume the identity of the series of rocks which occur in different countries, when this identity has not been verified by such a continuous exploration of the component members of the series. It would be in the highest degree unphilosophical to apply the special names of the English or German strata to the rocks of India, or America, or even of southern Europe, till it has appeared that in those countries the geological series of northern Europe really exists. In each separate country, the divisions of the formations which compose the crust of the earth must be made out, by applying the Method of Natural Arrangement to that particular case, and not by arbitrarily extending to it the nomenclature belonging to another case. It is only by such precautions, that we can ever succeed in obtaining geological propositions, at the same time true and comprehensive; or can obtain any sound general views respecting the physical history of the earth.
14. We can also note that the same method of natural classification that allows us to identify layers in distant locations, even when there are significant differences in their materials and contents, also prevents us from assuming that the rock sequences found in different countries are the same unless we have thoroughly explored the individual components of those sequences. It would be extremely unscientific to use the specific names of English or German rock layers for the rocks in India, America, or even southern Europe, without confirming that the geological sequences of northern Europe actually exist in those regions. In each country, we must determine the divisions of the formations that make up the Earth's crust by applying the Method of Natural Arrangement to that specific situation, rather than arbitrarily assigning names from a different situation. Only by taking such precautions can we succeed in formulating geological statements that are both accurate and comprehensive, or in developing sound general ideas about the Earth's physical history.
15. The Method of Natural Classification, which we thus recommend, falls in with those mental habits which we formerly described as resulting from the study of Natural History. The method was then termed the Method of Type, and was put in opposition to the Method of Definition.
15. The Method of Natural Classification that we recommend aligns with the mental habits we've described before as coming from the study of Natural History. This method was previously called the Method of Type and was contrasted with the Method of Definition.
The Method of Natural Classification is directly opposed to the process in which we assume and apply arbitrary definitions; for in the former Method, we find our classes in nature, and do not make them by marks of our own imposition. Nor can any advantage 231 to the progress of knowledge be procured, by laying down our characters when our arrangements are as yet quite loose and unformed. Nothing was gained by the attempts to define Metals by their weight, their hardness, their ductility, their colour; for to all these marks, as fast as they were proposed, exceptions were found, among bodies which still could not be excluded from the list of Metals. It was only when elementary substances were divided into Natural Classes, of which classes Metals were one, that a true view of their distinctive characters was obtained. Definitions in the outset of our examination of nature are almost always, not only useless, but prejudicial.
The Method of Natural Classification is completely different from the approach where we create and use arbitrary definitions; in the former Method, we discover our categories in nature instead of creating them based on our own criteria. There’s no benefit to advancing knowledge by setting our definitions when our classifications are still quite vague and unformed. Attempts to define Metals based on their weight, hardness, ductility, or color didn’t help at all; for each of these characteristics, exceptions cropped up among materials that still had to be considered as Metals. It was only when basic substances were categorized into Natural Classes, with Metals being one of those classes, that we could truly understand their unique characteristics. Definitions at the beginning of our exploration of nature are usually not just useless but also counterproductive.
16. When we obtain a Law of Nature by induction from phenomena, it commonly happens, as we have already seen, that we introduce, at the same time, a Proposition and a Definition. In this case, the two are correlative, each giving a real value to the other. In such cases, also, the Definition, as well as the Proposition, may become the basis of rigorous reasoning, and may lead to a series of deductive truths. We have examples of such Definitions and Propositions in the Laws of Motion, and in many other cases.
16. When we derive a Law of Nature through observation of phenomena, it often happens, as we've already noted, that we simultaneously introduce both a Proposition and a Definition. In this situation, the two are interconnected, with each providing real significance to the other. In these instances, both the Definition and the Proposition can serve as the foundation for precise reasoning and can lead to a series of deductive truths. We have examples of such Definitions and Propositions in the Laws of Motion and in many other cases.
17. When we have established Natural Classes of objects, we seek for Characters of our classes; and these Characters may, to a certain extent, be called the Definitions of our classes. This is to be understood, however, only in a limited sense: for these Definitions are not absolute and permanent. They are liable to be modified and superseded. If we find a case which manifestly belongs to our Natural Class, though violating our Definition, we do not shut out the case, but alter our definition. Thus, when we have made it part of our Definition of the Rose family, that they have alternate stipulate leaves, we do not, therefore, exclude from the family the genus Lowæa, which has no stipulæ. In Natural Classifications, our Definitions are to be considered as temporary and provisional only. When Sir C. Lyell established the distinctions of the tertiary strata, which he termed Eocene, Miocene, and Pliocene, he took a numerical criterion 232 (the proportion of recent species of shells contained in those strata) as the basis of his division. But now that those kinds of strata have become, by their application to a great variety of cases, a series of Natural Classes, we must, in our researches, keep in view the natural connexion of the formations themselves in different places; and must by no means allow ourselves to be governed by the numerical proportions which were originally contemplated; or even by any amended numerical criterion equally arbitrary; for however amended, Definitions in natural history are never immortal. The etymologies of Pliocene and Miocene may, hereafter, come to have merely an historical interest; and such a state of things will be no more inconvenient, provided the natural connexions of each class are retained, than it is to call a rock oolite or porphyry, when it has no roelike structure and no fiery spots.
17. When we establish natural categories of objects, we look for characteristics of those categories; these characteristics can, to some extent, be considered the definitions of our categories. However, this should only be understood in a limited way: these definitions are not absolute or permanent. They can be modified and replaced. If we encounter an example that clearly belongs to our natural category but does not fit our definition, we don't exclude that example; instead, we change our definition. For instance, when we make it part of our definition of the rose family that they have alternate stipulate leaves, we still include the genus Lowæa, which has no stipulæ. In natural classifications, our definitions should be seen as temporary and provisional. When Sir C. Lyell categorized the tertiary layers, calling them Eocene, Miocene, and Pliocene, he based his division on a numerical criterion (the proportion of recent shell species found in those layers). But now that these types of layers have, through their application to various cases, formed a series of natural categories, we must keep in mind the natural connections of the formations themselves in different locations; and we should not let ourselves be governed by the numerical proportions initially considered, or even by any revised numerical criterion that is equally arbitrary; because no matter how revised, definitions in natural history are never permanent. The origins of Pliocene and Miocene might eventually only be of historical interest; and this situation will not be problematic, as long as the natural connections of each category are maintained, any more than it is to label a rock as oolite or porphyry, when it lacks the usual rock structure and fiery spots.
The Methods of Induction which are treated of in this and the preceding chapter, and which are specially applicable to causes governed by relations of Quantity or of Resemblance, commonly lead us to Laws of Phenomena only. Inductions founded upon other ideas, those of Substance and Cause for example, appear to conduct us somewhat further into a knowledge of the essential nature and real connexions of things. But before we speak of these, we shall say a few words respecting the way in which inductive propositions, once obtained, may be verified and carried into effect by their application.
The methods of induction discussed in this chapter and the previous one, which specifically apply to causes related to quantity or similarity, usually lead us to laws of phenomena only. Inductions based on different concepts, like substance and cause, seem to take us a bit deeper into understanding the essential nature and actual connections of things. However, before we dive into that, let's take a moment to talk about how once we have inductive propositions, we can verify and implement them through their application.
CHAPTER IX.
On the Application of Inductive Truths.
Aphorism LIII.
Aphorism 53.
When the theory of any subject is established, the observations and experiments which are made in applying the science to use and to instruction, supply a perpetual verification of the theory.
Once the theory of a subject is established, the observations and experiments conducted in applying the science for practical use and teaching provide ongoing verification of the theory.
Aphorism LIV.
Aphorism 54.
Such observations and experiments, when numerous and accurate, supply also corrections of the constants involved in the theory; and sometimes, (by the Method of Residues,) additions to the theory.
When there are a lot of precise observations and experiments, they also provide corrections to the constants involved in the theory; and sometimes, (using the Method of Residues,) additions to the theory.
Aphorism LV.
Aphorism LV.
It is worth considering, whether a continued and connected system of observation and calculation, like that of astronomy, might not be employed with advantage in improving our knowledge of other subjects; as Tides, Currents, Winds, Clouds, Rain, Terrestrial Magnetism, Aurora Borealis, Composition of Crystals, and many other subjects.
It's worth thinking about whether a consistent and interconnected approach to observation and calculation, similar to astronomy, could be beneficial for enhancing our understanding of other areas like tides, currents, winds, clouds, rain, terrestrial magnetism, the Northern Lights, crystal composition, and many more subjects.
Aphorism LVI.
Aphorism 56.
An extension of a well-established theory to the explanation of new facts excites admiration as a discovery; but it is a discovery of a lower order than the theory itself.
An extension of a well-established theory to explain new facts is exciting like a discovery; however, it is a discovery of a lesser significance than the theory itself.
Aphorism LVII.
Aphorism 57.
The practical inventions which are most important in Art may be either unimportant parts of Science, or results not explained by Science. 234
The practical inventions that matter most in Art can either be minor aspects of Science or outcomes that Science doesn't explain. 234
Aphorism LVIII.
Aphorism 58.
In modern times, in many departments. Art is constantly guided, governed and advanced by Science.
Nowadays, in many fields, art is continuously influenced, regulated, and enhanced by science.
Aphorism LIX.
Aphorism 59.
Recently several New Arts have been invented, which may be regarded as notable verifications of the anticipations of material benefits to be derived to man from the progress of Science.
Recently, several new art forms have been created, which can be seen as significant confirmations of the expected material benefits that advancements in science can provide to humanity.
1. BY the application of inductive truths, we here mean, according to the arrangement given in chap. I. of this book, those steps, which in the natural order of science, follow the discovery of each truth. These steps are, the verification of the discovery by additional experiments and reasonings, and its extension to new cases, not contemplated by the original discoverer. These processes occupy that period, which, in the history of each great discovery, we have termed the Sequel of the epoch; as the collection of facts, and the elucidation of conceptions, form its Prelude.
1. BY applying inductive truths, we mean, based on the arrangement in chap. I of this book, the steps that naturally follow the discovery of each truth in the order of science. These steps include the verification of the discovery through further experiments and reasoning, as well as its extension to new cases not originally considered by the discoverer. These processes represent the period we refer to as the Sequel of the epoch in the history of each significant discovery, while the collection of facts and clarification of ideas form its Prelude.
2. It is not necessary to dwell at length on the processes of the Verification of Discoveries. When the Law of Nature is once stated, it is far easier to devise and execute experiments which prove it, than it was to discern the evidence before. The truth becomes one of the standard doctrines of the science to which it belongs, and is verified by all who study or who teach the science experimentally. The leading doctrines of Chemistry are constantly exemplified by each chemist in his Laboratory; and an amount of verification is thus obtained of which books give no adequate conception. In Astronomy, we have a still stronger example of the process of verifying discoveries. Ever since the science assumed a systematic form, there have been Observatories, in which the consequences of the theory were habitually compared with the results of observation. And to facilitate this comparison, Tables of great extent have been calculated, with immense labour, from each theory, showing the place which the 235 theory assigned to the heavenly bodies at successive times; and thus, as it were, challenging nature to deny the truth of the discovery. In this way, as I have elsewhere stated, the continued prevalence of an errour in the systematic parts of astronomy is impossible49. An errour, if it arise, makes its way into the tables, into the ephemeris, into the observer’s nightly list, or his sheet of reductions; the evidence of sense flies in its face in a thousand Observatories; the discrepancy is traced to its source, and soon disappears for ever.
2. There's no need to go into detail about how the Verification of Discoveries works. Once the Law of Nature is established, it's much easier to design and carry out experiments that prove it than it was to see the evidence beforehand. The truth becomes a standard principle of the relevant science and is confirmed by everyone who studies or teaches that science experimentally. The main principles of Chemistry are constantly demonstrated by each chemist in their Laboratory; and this leads to a level of verification that books can't fully capture. In Astronomy, we have an even stronger example of the verification process. Since the science became organized, there have been Observatories where the implications of theories are regularly compared with observational results. To facilitate these comparisons, extensive Tables have been painstakingly calculated from each theory, showing where the theory predicts the positions of celestial bodies at different times; this effectively challenges nature to refute the validity of the discovery. In this way, as I've mentioned elsewhere, it's impossible for a systematic error in astronomy to persist. If an error does occur, it makes its way into the tables, the ephemeris, the observer's nightly list, or their reduction sheet; the evidence from observation contradicts it across a thousand Observatories; the discrepancy is traced back to its source and soon vanishes for good.
3. In these last expressions, we suppose the theory, not only to be tested, but also to be corrected when it is found to be imperfect. And this also is part of the business of the observing astronomer. From his accumulated observations, he deduces more exact values than had previously been obtained, of the Constants or Coefficients of these Inequalities of which the Argument is already known. This he is enabled to do by the methods explained in the fifth chapter of this book; the Method of Means, and especially the Method of Least Squares. In other cases, he finds, by the Method of Residues, some new Inequality; for if no change of the Coefficients will bring the Tables and the observation to a coincidence, he knows that a new Term is wanting in his formula. He obtains, as far as he can, the law of this unknown Term; and when its existence and its law have been fully established, there remains the task of tracing it to its cause.
3. In these recent expressions, we assume the theory isn’t just tested but also corrected when it’s found to be flawed. This is also part of what the observing astronomer does. From his gathered observations, he derives more accurate values than before for the Constants or Coefficients of these Inequalities for which the Argument is already known. He can do this using the methods explained in the fifth chapter of this book; the Method of Means, and especially the Method of Least Squares. In other instances, he finds, through the Method of Residues, a new Inequality; if no changes in the Coefficients align the Tables with the observations, he knows that a new Term is needed in his formula. He tries to determine the law of this unknown Term as much as possible; and once its existence and its law are fully established, the next step is to trace it back to its cause.
4. The condition of the science of Astronomy, with regard to its security and prospect of progress, is one of singular felicity. It is a question well worth our consideration, as regarding the interests of science, whether, in other branches of knowledge also, a continued and corrected system, of observation and calculation, imitating the system employed by astronomers, might not be adopted. But the discussion of this question would involve us in a digression too wide for the present occasion. 236
4. The state of the science of Astronomy, in terms of its stability and potential for growth, is particularly promising. It's a question worth pondering, in relation to the interests of science, whether other fields of knowledge could also adopt a continuous and refined system of observation and calculation, similar to what astronomers use. However, discussing this question would lead us too far afield for this moment. 236
5. There is another mode of application of true theories after their discovery, of which we must also speak; I mean the process of showing that facts, not included in the original induction, and apparently of a different kind, are explained by reasonings founded upon the theory:—extensions of the theory as we may call them. The history of physical astronomy is full of such events. Thus after Bradley and Wargentin had observed a certain cycle among the perturbations of Jupiter’s satellites, Laplace explained this cycle by the doctrine of universal gravitation50. The long inequality of Jupiter and Saturn, the diminution of the obliquity of the ecliptic, the acceleration of the moon’s mean motion, were in like manner accounted for by Laplace. The coincidence of the nodes of the moon’s equator with those of her orbit was proved to result from mechanical principles by Lagrange. The motions of the recently-discovered planets, and of comets, shown by various mathematicians to be in exact accordance with the theory, are Verifications and Extensions still more obvious.
5. There's another way to apply true theories after they've been discovered, which we need to discuss; I’m talking about the process of showing that facts not included in the original induction, and that seem different, are explained by reasonings based on the theory—extensions of the theory, as we might call them. The history of physical astronomy is filled with such examples. For instance, after Bradley and Wargentin observed a certain cycle among the perturbations of Jupiter’s satellites, Laplace explained this cycle using the theory of universal gravitation50. Similarly, Laplace accounted for the long inequality between Jupiter and Saturn, the decrease in the obliquity of the ecliptic, and the acceleration of the moon’s mean motion. Lagrange demonstrated that the coincidence of the nodes of the moon’s equator with those of her orbit arose from mechanical principles. The motions of the recently-discovered planets and of comets, which various mathematicians have shown to align perfectly with the theory, are even clearer Verifications and Extensions.
6. In many of the cases just noticed, the consistency between the theory, and the consequences thus proved to result from it, is so far from being evident, that the most consummate command of all the powers and aids of mathematical reasoning is needed, to enable the philosopher to arrive at the result. In consequence of this circumstance, the labours just referred to, of Laplace, Lagrange, and others, have been the object of very great and very just admiration. Moreover, the necessary connexion of new facts, at first deemed inexplicable, with principles already known to be true;—a connexion utterly invisible at the outset, and yet at last established with the certainty of demonstration;—strikes us with the delight of a new discovery; and at first sight appears no less admirable than an original induction. Accordingly, men sometimes appear tempted to consider Laplace and other great mathematicians as persons of a kindred genius to Newton. We must not 237 forget, however, that there is a great and essential difference between inductive and deductive processes of the mind. The discovery of a new theory, which is true, is a step widely distinct from any mere development of the consequences of a theory already invented and established.
6. In many of the cases mentioned, the consistency between the theory and the resulting consequences is so far from being obvious that it requires exceptional skill in all aspects of mathematical reasoning for the philosopher to reach the conclusion. Because of this, the work of Laplace, Lagrange, and others has received great and well-deserved admiration. Furthermore, the vital connection of new facts, initially seen as inexplicable, with principles already proven true—connections that are completely invisible at first but eventually established with definitive proof—fills us with the joy of a new discovery and seems just as remarkable as a groundbreaking induction. As a result, people sometimes seem tempted to regard Laplace and other great mathematicians as having a genius similar to Newton. However, we must remember that there is a significant and essential difference between inductive and deductive reasoning. Discovering a new theory that is true is a distinct step from merely developing the consequences of a theory that has already been formulated and established.
7. In the other sciences also, which have been framed by a study of natural phenomena, we may find examples of the explanation of new phenomena by applying the principles of the science when once established. Thus, when the laws of the reflection and refraction of light had been established, a new and poignant exemplification of them was found in the explanation of the Rainbow by the reflection and refraction of light in the spherical drops of a shower; and again, another, no less striking, when the intersecting Luminous Circles and Mock Suns, which are seen in cold seasons, were completely explained by the hexagonal crystals of ice which float in the upper regions of the atmosphere. The Darkness of the space between the primary and secondary rainbow is another appearance which optical theory completely explains. And when we further include in our optical theory the doctrine of interferences, we find the explanation of other phenomena; for instance, the Supernumerary Rainbows which accompany the primary rainbow on its inner side, and the small Halos which often surround the sun and moon. And when we come to optical experiments, we find many instances in which the doctrine of interferences and of undulations have been applied to explain the phenomena by calculations almost as complex as those which we have mentioned in speaking of astronomy: with results as little foreseen at first and as entirely satisfactory in the end. Such are Schwerdt’s explanation of the diffracted images of a triangular aperture by the doctrine of interferences, and the explanation of the coloured Lemniscates seen by polarized light in biaxal crystals, given by Young and by Herschel: and still more marked is another case, in which the curves are unsymmetrical, namely, the curves seen by passing polarized 238 light through plates of quartz, which agree in a wonderful manner with the calculations of Airy. To these we may add the curious phenomena, and equally curious mathematical explanation, of Conical Refraction, as brought to view by Professor Lloyd and Sir W. Hamilton. Indeed, the whole history both of Physical Optics and of Physical Astronomy is a series of felicities of this kind, as we have elsewhere observed. Such applications of theory, and unforeseen explanations of new facts by complicated trains of reasoning necessarily flowing from the theory, are strong proof of the truth of the theory, while it is in the course of being established; but we are here rather speaking of them as applications of the theory after it has been established.
7. In other sciences that study natural phenomena, we can also find examples of new phenomena explained by using established principles of the science. For instance, once the laws of reflection and refraction of light were established, a vivid example emerged with the explanation of the rainbow through the reflection and refraction of light in spherical raindrops. Another striking example is when the intersecting luminous circles and sun dogs seen during cold seasons were fully explained by the hexagonal ice crystals that float in the upper atmosphere. The darkness between the primary and secondary rainbow is another phenomenon that optical theory fully explains. Additionally, when we incorporate the concept of interference into our optical theory, we discover explanations for further phenomena; for example, the supernumerary rainbows that appear on the inner side of the primary rainbow, and the small halos that often encircle the sun and moon. In optical experiments, we encounter numerous instances where the principles of interference and undulations have been used to explain phenomena through calculations that are nearly as intricate as those in astronomy, yielding unexpectedly satisfactory results. Examples include Schwerdt's explanation of the diffracted images from a triangular aperture through interference theory, as well as Young's and Herschel's explanation of the colored lemniscates seen with polarized light in biaxial crystals. Even more notable is the case with asymmetrical curves observed when polarized light passes through quartz plates, which closely aligns with Airy's calculations. We can also mention the intriguing phenomena and equally fascinating mathematical explanation of conical refraction, as demonstrated by Professor Lloyd and Sir W. Hamilton. Indeed, the entire history of both physical optics and physical astronomy is filled with instances of this nature, as we've noted elsewhere. Such applications of theory and the unexpected explanations of new facts through complex reasoning that naturally arises from the theory provide strong evidence of the theory's validity while it's still being developed; however, we are currently discussing these as applications of the theory after it has been established.
Those who thus apply principles already discovered are not to be ranked in their intellectual achievements with those who discover new principles; but still, when such applications are masked by the complex relations of space and number, it is impossible not to regard with admiration the clearness and activity of intellect which thus discerns in a remote region the rays of a central truth already unveiled by some great discoverer.
People who apply principles that have already been discovered should not be considered on the same level as those who uncover new principles. However, when these applications are hidden behind the intricate relationships of space and numbers, it's hard not to admire the clarity and quickness of the intellect that can find the rays of a central truth already revealed by a great discoverer in such an obscure area.
8. As examples in other fields of the application of a scientific discovery to the explanation of natural phenomena, we may take the identification of Lightning with electricity by Franklin, and the explanation of Dew by Wells. For Wells’s Inquiry into the Cause of Dew, though it has sometimes been praised as an original discovery, was, in fact, only resolving the phenomenon into principles already discovered. The atmologists of the last century were aware51 that the vapour which exists in air in an invisible state may be condensed into water by cold; and they had noticed that there is always a certain temperature, lower than that of the atmosphere, to which if we depress bodies, water forms upon them in fine drops. This temperature is the limit of that which is 239 necessary to constitute vapour, and is hence called the constituent temperature. But these principles were not generally familiar in England till Dr. Wells introduced them into his Essay on Dew, published in 1814; having indeed been in a great measure led to them by his own experiments and reasonings. His explanation of Dew,—that it arises from the coldness of the bodies on which it settles,—was established with great ingenuity; and is a very elegant confirmation of the Theory of Constituent Temperature.
8. As examples from other fields where scientific discoveries help explain natural phenomena, we can look at Franklin's identification of lightning with electricity and Wells's explanation of dew. Although Wells’s Inquiry into the Cause of Dew has sometimes been celebrated as an original discovery, it really just breaks down the phenomenon into principles that were already known. Scientists from the last century understood that the vapor present in air, which is invisible, can be turned into water when exposed to cold. They observed that there is always a specific temperature, lower than the surrounding atmosphere, at which water forms on surfaces in tiny droplets. This temperature is the threshold that defines vapor, hence it is referred to as the constituent temperature. However, these ideas weren't widely known in England until Dr. Wells introduced them in his Essay on Dew, published in 1814; he had largely arrived at these conclusions through his own experiments and reasoning. His explanation of dew—that it forms from the cooling of the surfaces it settles on—was demonstrated with great creativity and elegantly supports the Theory of Constituent Temperature.
9. As other examples of such explanations of new phenomena by a theory, we may point out Ampère’s Theory that Magnetism is transverse voltaic currents, applied to explain the rotation of a voltaic wire round a magnet, and of a magnet round a voltaic wire. And again, in the same subject, when it had been proved that electricity might be converted into magnetism, it seemed certain that magnetism might be converted into electricity; and accordingly Faraday found under what conditions this may be done; though indeed here, the theory rather suggested the experiment than explained it when it had been independently observed. The production of an electric spark by a magnet was a very striking exemplification of the theory of the identity of these different polar agencies.
9. Other examples of theories explaining new phenomena include Ampère’s theory that magnetism is caused by transverse electric currents, which was used to explain how a wire carrying electric current rotates around a magnet, and how a magnet rotates around a wire. Additionally, once it was established that electricity could be turned into magnetism, it seemed clear that magnetism could also be turned into electricity. Faraday then discovered the conditions under which this transformation could occur; however, in this case, the theory suggested the experiment rather than explaining it after it was observed independently. The creation of an electric spark by a magnet was a striking demonstration of the theory that these different polar forces are essentially the same.
10. In Chemistry such applications of the principles of the science are very frequent; for it is the chemist’s business to account for the innumerable changes which take place in material substances by the effects of mixture, heat, and the like. As a marked instance of such an application of the science, we may take the explanation of the explosive force of gunpowder52, from the conversion of its materials into gases. In Mineralogy also we have to apply the 240 principles of Chemistry to the analysis of bodies: and I may mention, as a case which at the time excited much notice, the analysis of a mineral called Heavy Spar. It was found that different specimens of this mineral differed in their crystalline angles about three degrees and a half; a difference which was at variance with the mineralogical discovery then recently made, of the constancy of the angle of the same substance. Vauquelin solved this difficulty by discovering that the crystals with the different angles were really minerals chemically different; the one kind being sulphate of barytes, and the other, sulphate of strontian.
10. In Chemistry, these applications of scientific principles happen quite often; it’s the chemist's job to explain the countless changes that occur in materials due to mixing, heat, and similar factors. A notable example of such an application is the explanation of the explosive power of gunpowder52, which comes from the transformation of its materials into gases. Similarly, in Mineralogy, we need to apply the 240 principles of Chemistry to analyze substances. I should mention, as an example that generated a lot of interest at the time, the analysis of a mineral called Heavy Spar. It was found that different samples of this mineral varied in their crystalline angles by about three and a half degrees, a difference that conflicted with the recent mineralogical discovery of the constancy of the angle for the same substance. Vauquelin resolved this issue by discovering that the crystals with the different angles were actually chemically different minerals; one type was baryte sulfate, and the other was strontium sulfate.
11. In this way a scientific theory, when once established, is perpetually finding new applications in the phenomena of nature; and those who make such applications, though, as we have said, they care not to be ranked with the great discoverers who establish theories new and true, often receive a more prompt and general applause than great discoverers do; because they have not to struggle with the perplexity and averseness which often encounter the promulgation of new truths.
11. In this way, once a scientific theory is established, it continuously finds new applications in the natural world. Those who apply these theories, even though they don’t seek to be regarded as the great discoverers who create new and accurate theories, often receive quicker and broader praise than the great discoverers do. This is because they don’t have to deal with the confusion and resistance that often comes with introducing new truths.
12. Along with the verification and extension of scientific truths, we are naturally led to consider the useful application of them. The example of all the best writers who have previously treated of the philosophy of sciences, from Bacon to Herschel, draws our attention to those instances of the application of scientific truths, which are subservient to the uses of practical life; to the support, the safety, the pleasure of man. It is well known in how large a degree the furtherance of these objects constituted the merit of the Novum Organon in the eyes of its author; and the enthusiasm with which men regard these visible and tangible manifestations of the power and advantage which knowledge may bring, has gone on increasing up to our own day. And undoubtedly such applications of the discoveries of science to promote the preservation, comfort, power and dignity of man, must always be objects of great philosophical as well as practical interest. Yet we may observe that those 241 practical inventions which are of most importance in the Arts, have not commonly, in the past ages of the world, been the results of theoretical knowledge, nor have they tended very greatly to the promotion of such knowledge. The use of bread and of wine has existed from the first beginning of man’s social history; yet men have not had—we may question whether they yet have—a satisfactory theory of the constitution and fabrication of bread and of wine. From a very early period there have been workers in metal: yet who could tell upon what principles depended the purifying of gold and silver by the fire, or the difference between iron and steel? In some cases, as in the story of the brass produced by the Corinthian conflagration, some particular step in art is ascribed to a special accident; but hardly ever to the thoughtful activity of a scientific speculator. The Dyeing of cloths, the fabrication and colouring of earthenware and glass vessels was carried to a very high degree of completeness; yet who had any sound theoretical knowledge respecting these processes? Are not all these arts still practised with a degree of skill which we can hardly or not at all surpass, by nations which have, properly speaking, no science? Till lately, at least, if even now the case be different, the operations by which man’s comforts, luxuries, and instruments were produced, were either mere practical processes, which the artist practises, but which the scientist cannot account for; or, as in astronomy and optics, they depended upon a small portion only of the theoretical sciences, and did not tend to illustrate, or lead to, any larger truths. Bacon mentions as recent discoveries, which gave him courage and hope with regard to the future progress of human knowledge, the invention of gunpowder, glass, and printing, the introduction of silk, and the discovery of America. Yet which of these can be said to have been the results of a theoretical enlargement of human knowledge? except perhaps the discovery of the New World, which was in some degree the result of Columbus’s conviction of the globular form of the earth. This, however, was not a recent, but a very ancient 242 doctrine of all sound astronomers. And which of these discoveries has been the cause of a great enlargement of our theoretical knowledge?—except any one claims such a merit for the discovery of printing; in which sense the result is brought about in a very indirect manner, in the same way in which the progress of freedom and of religion may be ascribed as consequences to the same discovery. However great or striking, then, such discoveries have been, they have not, generally speaking, produced any marked advance of the Inductive Sciences in the sense in which we here speak of them. They have increased man’s power, it may be: that is, his power of adding to his comforts and communicating with his fellow-men. But they have not necessarily or generally increased his theoretical knowledge. And, therefore, with whatever admiration we may look upon such discoveries as these, we are not to admire them as steps in Inductive Science.
12. Along with confirming and expanding scientific truths, we're naturally led to consider how to apply them practically. The examples of the best writers who have discussed the philosophy of science, from Bacon to Herschel, draw our attention to instances where scientific truths serve the practical needs of life; supporting, ensuring safety, and providing pleasure for humanity. It’s well known how much the pursuit of these goals constituted the merit of the Novum Organon in the eyes of its author; and the enthusiasm with which people regard the visible and tangible benefits that knowledge can bring has continued to grow even today. Undoubtedly, applying scientific discoveries to enhance the preservation, comfort, power, and dignity of humans must always be of great philosophical and practical interest. However, we can observe that most significant practical inventions in the arts have not typically stemmed from theoretical knowledge nor have they significantly advanced such knowledge. The consumption of bread and wine has been around since the start of human social history; yet people have not possessed a satisfactory theory regarding the composition and making of bread and wine. From very early times, there have been metalworkers; yet who could explain the principles behind purifying gold and silver with fire or the difference between iron and steel? In some instances, like the brass produced from the Corinthian fire, a specific art step is attributed to a particular accident, but rarely to the careful work of a scientific thinker. The dyeing of fabrics, manufacturing and coloring pottery, and glassmaking reached a high level of precision; yet who had solid theoretical knowledge about these processes? Don’t all these crafts continue to be practiced with a skill we can hardly rival, by cultures that, strictly speaking, have no science? Until recently, if things are different now, the methods by which people's comforts, luxuries, and tools were created were either just practical techniques that artists used but scientists couldn’t explain, or else, as seen in astronomy and optics, they were based only on a small part of theoretical sciences and didn’t tend to illustrate or lead to broader truths. Bacon noted recent discoveries, which inspired him with hope for the future of human knowledge, such as gunpowder, glass, and printing, the introduction of silk, and the discovery of America. Yet which of these can be said to have resulted from a theoretical expansion of human knowledge? Except perhaps the discovery of the New World, which was somewhat a result of Columbus’s belief in the earth's roundness. However, this was not recent but a very ancient idea among sound astronomers. And which of these discoveries has greatly expanded our theoretical knowledge?—unless someone argues that the discovery of printing holds such merit; in that sense, it contributes in a very indirect way, much like how the progress of freedom and religion can be seen as consequences of the same discovery. Regardless of how great or impressive these discoveries may be, they have not generally led to a significant advancement in Inductive Sciences as we understand them here. They may have increased humanity’s power—that is, the power to enhance comfort and communicate with others. But they haven’t necessarily or generally expanded theoretical knowledge. Therefore, while we may admire these discoveries, we should not regard them as milestones in Inductive Science.
And on the other hand, we are not to ask of Inductive Science, as a necessary result of her progress, such additions as these to man’s means of enjoyment and action. It is said, with a feeling of triumph, that Knowledge is Power: but in whatever sense this may truly be said, we value Knowledge, not because it is Power but because it is Knowledge; and we estimate wrongly both the nature and the dignity of that kind of science with which we are here concerned, if we expect that every new advance in theory will forthwith have a market value:—that science will mark the birth of a new Truth with some new birthday present, such as a softer stuff to wrap our limbs, a brighter vessel to grace our table, a new mode of communication with our friends and the world, a new instrument for the destruction of our enemies, or a new region which may be the source of wealth and interest.
And on the other hand, we shouldn't expect Inductive Science, as it develops, to provide us with more ways to enjoy life or take action. It's often said, with a sense of pride, that Knowledge is Power: but regardless of how true that might be, we value Knowledge not because it gives us power, but simply because it is Knowledge. We misunderstand both the nature and the importance of the kind of science we're discussing if we think that every new theoretical advancement will instantly have practical value—that science will celebrate the emergence of a new Truth with gifts like cozier fabrics for our bodies, nicer dishes for our tables, new ways to connect with friends and the world, new tools to defeat our enemies, or new resources that could bring us wealth and excitement.
13. Yet though, as we have said, many of the most remarkable processes which we reckon as the triumphs of Art did not result from a previous progress of Science, we have, at many points of the history of Science, applications of new views, to enable man to do as well 243 as to see. When Archimedes had obtained clear views of the theory of machines, he forthwith expressed them in his bold practical boast; ‘Give me whereon to stand, and I will move the earth.’ And his machines with which he is said to have handled the Roman ships like toys, and his burning mirrors with which he is reported to have set them on fire, are at least possible applications of theoretical principles. When he saw the waters rising in the bath as his body descended, and rushed out crying, ‘I have found the way;’ what he had found was the solution of the practical question of the quantity of silver mixed with the gold of Hiero’s crown. But the mechanical inventions of Hero of Alexandria, which moved by the force of air or of steam, probably involved no exact theoretical notions of the properties of air or of steam. He devised a toy which revolved by the action of steam; but by the force of steam exerted in issuing from an orifice, not by its pressure or condensation. And the Romans had no arts derived from science in addition to those which they inherited from the Greeks. They built aqueducts, not indeed through ignorance of the principles of hydrostatics, as has sometimes been said; for we, who know our hydrostatics, build aqueducts still; but their practice exemplified only Archimedean hydrostatics. Their clepsydras or water-clocks were adjusted by trial only. They used arches and vaults more copiously than the Greeks had done, but the principle of the arch appears, by the most recent researches, to have been known to the Greeks. Domes and groined arches, such as we have in the Pantheon and in the Baths of Caracalla, perhaps they invented; certainly they practised them on a noble scale. Yet this was rather practical skill than theoretical knowledge; and it was pursued by their successors in the middle ages in the same manner, as practical skill rather than theoretical knowledge. Thus were produced flying buttresses, intersecting pointed vaults, and the other wonders of mediæval architecture. The engineers of the fifteenth century, as Leonardo da Vinci, began to convert their practical into theoretical knowledge of Mechanics; but still 244 clocks and watches, flying machines and printing presses involved no new mechanical principle.
13. However, as we've mentioned, many of the most impressive achievements we consider as the victories of Art didn't come from a prior advancement in Science. Throughout the history of Science, there have been many instances where new ideas allowed people to do just as much as to see. When Archimedes clearly understood the theory of machines, he boldly declared, "Give me a place to stand, and I will move the earth." His machines, which he supposedly used to manipulate Roman ships like toys, and his burning mirrors that are said to have ignited them, represent potential applications of theoretical concepts. When he noticed the water rising in the bath as he got in and shouted, "Eureka! I have found it!" what he actually discovered was the answer to the practical issue of how much silver was mixed with the gold in Hiero's crown. On the other hand, Hero of Alexandria's mechanical inventions, which operated using air or steam, likely didn't have a precise theoretical understanding of the properties of these elements. He created a toy that spun with steam power, but it worked through steam escaping from an opening, not due to its pressure or condensation. The Romans didn’t innovate any new scientific techniques beyond what they inherited from the Greeks. They built aqueducts, not out of ignorance of hydrostatics, as has sometimes been suggested; after all, we, who understand hydrostatics, still build aqueducts today. Their approach only demonstrated Archimedean hydrostatics. Their water clocks were simply adjusted through trial and error. They used arches and vaults more extensively than the Greeks, but recent studies indicate that the Greeks were already aware of the principles of the arch. They might have invented domes and groined arches, like those found in the Pantheon and the Baths of Caracalla, and they definitely built them on a grand scale. Still, this was more about practical skill than theoretical knowledge; a trend that continued through the Middle Ages, where practical skill prevailed over theoretical understanding. This led to the creation of flying buttresses, intersecting pointed vaults, and other marvels of medieval architecture. By the fifteenth century, engineers like Leonardo da Vinci began to turn their practical expertise into theoretical knowledge of Mechanics, but even then, 244 clocks and watches, flying machines, and printing presses didn’t introduce any new mechanical principles.
14. But from this time the advances in Science generally produced, as their result, new inventions of a practical kind. Thus the doctrine of the weight of air led to such inventions as the barometer used as a Weather-glass, the Air-pump with its train of curious experiments, the Diving-Bell, the Balloon. The telescope was perhaps in some degree a discovery due to accident, but its principles had been taught by Roger Bacon, and still more clearly by Descartes. Newton invented a steady thermometer by attending to steady laws of nature. And in the case of the improvements of the steam engine made by Watt, we have an admirable example how superior the method of improving Art by Science is, to the blind gropings of mere practical habit.
14. From this point on, advancements in Science generally resulted in new, practical inventions. For example, the understanding of air pressure led to inventions like the barometer used as a weather instrument, the air pump with its fascinating experiments, the diving bell, and the balloon. The telescope was maybe partly a lucky discovery, but its principles were explained by Roger Bacon, and even more clearly by Descartes. Newton created a reliable thermometer by observing consistent natural laws. The improvements made to the steam engine by Watt are a great example of how the method of enhancing technology through science is far better than just relying on blind trial and error.
Of this truth, the history of most of the useful arts in our time offers abundant proofs and illustrations. All improvements and applications of the forces and agencies which man employs for his purposes are now commonly made, not by blind trial but with the clearest theoretical as well as practical insight which he can obtain, into the properties of the agents which he employs. In this way he has constructed, (using theory and calculation at every step of his construction,) steam engines, steam boats, screw-propellers, locomotive engines, railroads and bridges and structures of all kinds. Lightning-conductors have been improved and applied to the preservation of buildings, and especially of ships, with admirable effect, by Sir Wm. Snow Harris, an experimenter who has studied with great care the theory of electricity. The measurement of the quantity of oxygen, that is, of vital power, in air, has been taught by Cavendish, and by Dr Ure a skilful chemist of our time. Methods for measuring the bleaching power of a substance have been devised by eminent chemical philosophers, Gay Lussac and Mr Graham. Davy used his discoveries concerning the laws of flame in order to construct his Safety Lamp:—his discoveries concerning the galvanic 245 battery in order to protect ships’ bottoms from corrosion. The skilled geologist has repeatedly given to those who were about to dig for coal where it could have no geological place, advice which has saved them from ruinous expence. Sir Roderick Murchison, from geological evidence, declared the likelihood of gold being found abundantly in Australia, many years before the diggings began.
The history of useful technologies in our time provides plenty of evidence and examples of this truth. Nowadays, all improvements and uses of the forces and tools that people use for their goals are typically made not through random trial and error, but with clear theoretical and practical understanding of the properties of the tools being used. This approach has led to the development of steam engines, steamboats, screw propellers, locomotives, railroads, bridges, and all sorts of structures, all built with theory and calculations at every stage. Sir Wm. Snow Harris has significantly improved lightning rods to protect buildings, especially ships, by thoroughly studying the theory of electricity. Cavendish and Dr. Ure, a skilled chemist of our time, taught us how to measure the amount of oxygen, or vital power, in the air. Prominent chemists like Gay Lussac and Mr. Graham developed methods to measure the bleaching power of substances. Davy applied his findings on the laws of flame to create his Safety Lamp and his discoveries about the galvanic battery to protect the bottoms of ships from corrosion. Experienced geologists have repeatedly advised those about to mine for coal in geologically unlikely locations, saving them from costly mistakes. Sir Roderick Murchison predicted, based on geological evidence, that gold would be found in abundance in Australia many years before the gold rush began.
Even the subtle properties of light as shewn in the recent discoveries of its interference and polarization, have been applied to useful purposes. Young invented an Eriometer, an instrument which should measure the fineness of the threads of wool by the coloured fringes which they produce; and substances which it is important to distinguish in the manufacture of sugar, are discriminated by their effect in rotating the plane of polarization of light. One substance has been termed Dextrin, from its impressing a right-handed rotation on the plane of polarization.
Even the subtle properties of light, as shown in recent discoveries of its interference and polarization, have been put to practical use. Young invented an Eriometer, a device that measures the fineness of wool threads based on the colored fringes they create; and substances that are important to identify in sugar production are differentiated by how they affect the rotation of the plane of polarization of light. One such substance is called Dextrin, because it causes a right-handed rotation on the plane of polarization.
And in a great number of Arts and Manufactures, the necessity of a knowledge of theory to the right conduct of practice is familiarly acknowledged and assumed. In the testing and smelting of metals, in the fabrication of soap, of candles, of sugar; in the dyeing and printing of woollen, linen, cotton and silken stuffs; the master manufacturer has always the scientific chemist at his elbow;—either a ‘consulting chemist’ to whom he may apply on a special occasion, (for such is now a regular profession;) or a chemist who day by day superintends, controls, and improves the processes which his workmen daily carry on. In these cases, though Art long preceded Science, Science now guides, governs and advances Art.
And in many areas of Arts and Manufacturing, it's widely recognized and assumed that understanding theory is essential for effectively carrying out practice. Whether in testing and smelting metals, making soap, candles, or sugar; or in dyeing and printing wool, linen, cotton, and silk fabrics, the master manufacturer always has a scientific chemist close by—either a ‘consulting chemist’ he can reach out to for specific occasions (since that has become a regular profession), or a chemist who oversees, manages, and enhances the processes that his workers engage in daily. In these instances, while Art came before Science, Science now leads, directs, and propels Art forward.
15. Other Arts and manufactures which have arisen in modern times have been new creations produced by Science, and requiring a complete acquaintance with scientific processes to conduct them effectually and securely. Such are the photographic Arts, now so various in their form; beginning with those which, from their authors, are called Daguerrotype and Talbotype. Such are the Arts of Electrotype modelling 246 and Electrotype plating. Such are the Arts of preparing fulminating substances; gun-cotton; fulminate of silver, and of mercury; and the application of those Arts to use, in the fabrication of percussion-caps for guns. Such is the Art of Electric Telegraphy, from its first beginning to its last great attempt, the electric cord which connects England and America. Such is the Art of imitating by the chemistry of the laboratory the vegetable chemistry of nature, and thus producing the flavour of the pear, the apple, the pine-apple, the melon, the quince. Such is the Art of producing in man a temporary insensibility to pain, which was effected first through the means of sulphuric ether by Dr Jackson of America, and afterwards through the use of chloroform by Dr Simpson of Edinburgh. In these cases and many others Science has endowed man with New Arts. And though even in these Arts, which are thus the last results of Science, there is much which Science cannot fully understand and explain; still, such cases cannot but be looked upon as notable verifications of the anticipations of those who in former times expected from the progress of Science a harvest of material advantages to man.
15. Other arts and industries that have emerged in modern times are new creations driven by science and require a thorough understanding of scientific processes to be carried out effectively and safely. These include the various forms of photographic arts, starting with those named after their inventors, the Daguerreotype and Talbotype. They also encompass the arts of electrotyping and electroplating. Additionally, there are the techniques for preparing explosive substances like gun cotton, silver fulminate, and mercury fulminate, and applying these techniques in making percussion caps for firearms. The art of electric telegraphy is another example, extending from its inception to its latest significant endeavor: the electric cable connecting England and America. There’s also the art of replicating natural flavors in a lab, producing the tastes of pear, apple, pineapple, melon, and quince. Furthermore, the ability to induce temporary insensitivity to pain in humans, first achieved with sulfuric ether by Dr. Jackson in America and later with chloroform by Dr. Simpson in Edinburgh, is included here. In these instances and many others, science has gifted humanity with new arts. And even though there’s still much in these arts that science cannot completely understand or explain, such cases stand as remarkable confirmations of the expectations from the past that progress in science would yield a wealth of material benefits for mankind.
We must now conclude our task by a few words on the subject of inductions involving Ideas ulterior to those already considered.
We should now wrap up our work with a few comments on the topic of inductions related to ideas beyond those we've already discussed.
CHAPTER X.
Induction of Causes.
Aphorism LX.
Saying 60.
In the Induction of Causes the principal Maxim is, that we must be careful to possess, and to apply, with perfect clearness, the Fundamental Idea on which the Induction depends.
In the Induction of Causes the main principle is that we need to clearly understand and effectively apply the fundamental idea that the induction is based on.
Aphorism LXI.
Aphorism 61.
The Induction of Substance, of Force, of Polarity, go beyond mere laws of phenomena, and may be considered as the Induction of Causes.
The induction of substance, force, and polarity goes beyond just the laws of observable events and can be seen as the induction of causes.
Aphorism LXII.
Aphorism 62.
The Cause of certain phenomena being inferred, we are led to inquire into the Cause of this Cause, which inquiry must be conducted in the same manner as the previous one; and thus we have the Induction of Ulterior Causes.
By inferring the cause of certain phenomena, we are prompted to investigate the cause of that cause, which investigation must be carried out in the same way as the previous one; and so we arrive at the induction of further causes.
Aphorism LXIII.
Aphorism 63.
In contemplating the series of Causes which are themselves the effects of other causes, we are necessarily led to assume a Supreme Cause in the Order of Causation, as we assume a First Cause in Order of Succession.
As we think about the chain of causes that result from other causes, we naturally have to assume a Supreme Cause in the Order of Causation, just like we assume a First Cause in the Order of Succession.
1. WE formerly53 stated the objects of the researches of Science to be Laws of Phenomena and Causes; and showed the propriety and the necessity of not resting in the former object, but extending our 248 inquiries to the latter also. Inductions, in which phenomena are connected by relations of Space, Time, Number and Resemblance, belong to the former class; and of the Methods applicable to such Inductions we have treated already. In proceeding to Inductions governed by any ulterior Ideas, we can no longer lay down any Special Methods by which our procedure may be directed. A few general remarks are all that we shall offer.
WE previously stated that the purpose of scientific research is to understand the laws of phenomena and their causes. We emphasized the importance of not just focusing on the first but also exploring the latter. Inductions, which connect phenomena through relationships of space, time, number, and resemblance, fall into the first category; we have already discussed the methods relevant to these inductions. However, when we move to inductions influenced by deeper ideas, we can no longer establish specific methods to guide our approach. Instead, we will provide just a few general observations.
The principal Maxim in such cases of Induction is the obvious one:—that we must be careful to possess and to apply, with perfect clearness and precision, the Fundamental Idea on which the Induction depends.
The main principle in these cases of induction is simple: we must ensure that we clearly and accurately understand and apply the fundamental idea on which the induction is based.
We may illustrate this in a few cases.
We can show this in a few examples.
2. Induction of Substance.—The Idea of Substance54 involves this axiom, that the weight of the whole compound must be equal to the weights of the separate elements, whatever changes the composition or separation of the elements may have occasioned. The application of this Maxim we may term the Method of the Balance. We have seen55 elsewhere how the memorable revolution in Chemistry, the overthrow of Phlogiston, and the establishment of the Oxygen Theory, was produced by the application of this Method. We have seen too56 that the same Idea leads us to this Maxim;—that Imponderable Fluids are not to be admitted as chemical elements of bodies.
2. Induction of Substance.—The Idea of Substance54 is based on the principle that the total weight of the entire compound must equal the weights of its individual elements, regardless of any changes that may occur in the composition or separation of those elements. We can refer to the use of this principle as the Method of the Balance. We have seen55 how the significant shift in Chemistry, the dismissal of Phlogiston and the establishment of the Oxygen Theory, was made possible by using this method. We have also seen56 that the same idea leads us to this principle: that Imponderable Fluids should not be considered as chemical elements of substances.
Whether those which have been termed Imponderable Fluids,—the supposed fluids which produce the phenomena of Light, Heat, Electricity, Galvanism, Magnetism,—really exist or no, is a question, not merely of the Laws, but of the Causes of Phenomena. It is, as has already been shown, a question which we cannot help discussing, but which is at present involved in great obscurity. Nor does it appear at all likely that we shall obtain a true view of the cause of Light, Heat, and Electricity, till we have discovered precise and general laws connecting optical, thermotical, and 249 electrical phenomena with those chemical doctrines to which the Idea of Substance is necessarily applied.
Whether what we call Imponderable Fluids—the supposed fluids that create the effects of Light, Heat, Electricity, Galvanism, and Magnetism—actually exist or not is a question that goes beyond just the Laws and dives into the Causes of Phenomena. As we've already discussed, it's a topic we can't avoid talking about, but it’s currently shrouded in significant mystery. Moreover, it seems unlikely that we will truly understand the causes of Light, Heat, and Electricity until we discover clear and general laws that link optical, thermal, and 249 electrical phenomena to the chemical principles that are fundamentally tied to the concept of Substance.
3. Induction of Force.—The inference of Mechanical Forces from phenomena has been so abundantly practised, that it is perfectly familiar among scientific inquirers. From the time of Newton, it has been the most common aim of mathematicians; and a persuasion has grown up among them, that mechanical forces,—attraction and repulsion,—are the only modes of action of the particles of bodies which we shall ultimately have to consider. I have attempted to show that this mode of conception is inadequate to the purposes of sound philosophy;—that the Particles of crystals, and the Elements of chemical compounds, must be supposed to be combined in some other way than by mere mechanical attraction and repulsion. Dr. Faraday has gone further in shaking the usual conceptions of the force exerted, in well-known cases. Among the most noted and conspicuous instances of attraction and repulsion exerted at a distance, were those which take place between electrized bodies. But the eminent electrician just mentioned has endeavoured to establish, by experiments of which it is very difficult to elude the weight, that the action in these cases does not take place at a distance, but is the result of a chain of intermediate particles connected at every point by forces of another kind.
3. Induction of Force.—The interpretation of Mechanical Forces from observable events has been widely practiced and is well-known among scientists. Since Newton's time, it has been a primary focus for mathematicians, leading to a belief that mechanical forces—attraction and repulsion—are the only types of interaction between particles of matter that we will ultimately consider. I have tried to demonstrate that this way of thinking is insufficient for sound philosophy—that the particles in crystals and the elements of chemical compounds must be thought to bond in ways beyond mere mechanical attraction and repulsion. Dr. Faraday has gone even further in challenging traditional ideas about the forces involved in well-known cases. Some of the most recognized instances of attraction and repulsion occurring at a distance involve electrified objects. However, the notable electrician has attempted to show, through experiments that are hard to dismiss, that the interactions in these cases do not happen at a distance but result from a series of intermediate particles connected at every point by different kinds of forces.
4. Induction of Polarity.—The forces to which Dr. Faraday ascribes the action in these cases are Polar Forces57. We have already endeavoured to explain the Idea of Polar Forces; which implies58 that at every point forces exactly equal act in opposite directions; and thus, in the greater part of their course, neutralize and conceal each other; while at the extremities of the line, being by some cause liberated, they are manifested, still equal and opposite. And the criterion by which this polar character of forces is recognized, is implied in the reasoning of Faraday, on the question of one or two electricities, of which we 250 formerly spoke59. The maxim is this:—that in the action of polar forces, along with every manifestation of force or property, there exists a corresponding and simultaneous manifestation of an equal and opposite force or property.
4. Induction of Polarity.—The forces that Dr. Faraday attributes to the action in these cases are called Polar Forces57. We have already tried to explain the concept of Polar Forces; which means58 that at every point, equal forces act in opposite directions; and thus, for most of their pathway, they cancel each other out and remain hidden; while at the ends of the line, when released by some cause, they become visible, still equal and opposite. The criteria for recognizing this polar nature of forces is suggested in Faraday's reasoning about the question of one or two electricities, which we 250 discussed earlier59. The principle is this:—that in the action of polar forces, with every manifestation of force or property, there is a corresponding and simultaneous manifestation of an equal and opposite force or property.
5. As it was the habit of the last age to reduce all action to mechanical forces, the present race of physical speculators appears inclined to reduce all forces to polar forces. Mosotti has endeavoured to show that the positive and negative electricities pervade all bodies, and that gravity is only an apparent excess of one of the kinds over the other. As we have seen, Faraday has given strong experimental grounds for believing that the supposed remote actions of electrized bodies are really the effects of polar forces among contiguous particles. If this doctrine were established with regard to all electrical, magnetical, and chemical forces, we might ask, whether, while all other forces are polar, gravity really affords a single exception to the universal rule? Is not the universe pervaded by an omnipresent antagonism, a fundamental conjunction of contraries, everywhere opposite, nowhere independent? We are, as yet, far from the position in which Inductive Science can enable us to answer such inquiries.
5. Just like how the last generation focused on reducing all actions to mechanical forces, the current group of physical theorists seems to be inclined to simplify everything to polar forces. Mosotti has tried to demonstrate that positive and negative electricities exist in all materials, suggesting that gravity is just an apparent excess of one type over the other. As we've seen, Faraday has provided strong experimental evidence that the supposed distant actions of electrified bodies are actually the result of polar forces acting among nearby particles. If this theory were confirmed for all electrical, magnetic, and chemical forces, we might wonder whether, while all other forces are polar, gravity truly stands as the only exception to this universal rule. Isn’t the universe filled with a pervasive antagonism, a fundamental mix of opposites, always contrasting and never independent? We are still quite far from a point where Inductive Science can help us answer such questions.
6. Induction of Ulterior Causes.—The first Induction of a Cause does not close the business of scientific inquiry. Behind proximate causes, there are ulterior causes, perhaps a succession of such. Gravity is the cause of the motions of the planets; but what is the cause of gravity? This is a question which has occupied men’s minds from the time of Newton to the present day. Earthquakes and volcanoes are the causes of many geological phenomena; but what is the cause of those subterraneous operations? This inquiry after ulterior causes is an inevitable result from the intellectual constitution of man. He discovers mechanical causes, but he cannot rest in them. He must needs ask, whence it is that matter has its universal power of attracting matter. He discovers polar forces: but even 251 if these be universal, he still desires a further insight into the cause of this polarity. He sees, in organic structures, convincing marks of adaptation to an end: whence, he asks, is this adaptation? He traces in the history of the earth a chain of causes and effects operating through time: but what, he inquires, is the power which holds the end of this chain?
6. Induction of Ulterior Causes.—The initial induction of a cause doesn't complete the task of scientific inquiry. Behind immediate causes, there are deeper causes, maybe even a series of them. Gravity is responsible for the motion of planets, but what causes gravity? This question has intrigued people from the time of Newton to today. Earthquakes and volcanoes are responsible for many geological phenomena; but what causes those underground processes? This search for deeper causes is a natural consequence of human intellect. People identify mechanical causes, but they can’t settle for just those. They need to ask where the universal power of matter to attract other matter comes from. They recognize polar forces, but even if these forces are universal, they still want a deeper understanding of what causes this polarity. They observe, within organic structures, clear evidence of adaptation to a purpose: and they wonder, where does this adaptation come from? They trace a chain of causes and effects throughout the Earth's history: but they ask, what is the force that connects the end of this chain?
Thus we are referred back from step to step in the order of causation, in the same, manner as, in the palætiological sciences, we were referred back in the order of time. We make discovery after discovery in the various regions of science; each, it may be, satisfactory, and in itself complete, but none final. Something always remains undone. The last question answered, the answer suggests still another question. The strain of music from the lyre of Science flows on, rich and sweet, full and harmonious, but never reaches a close: no cadence is heard with which the intellectual ear can feel satisfied.
So, we keep going back from one step to the next in the chain of cause and effect, just like in the paleontological sciences, where we trace things back in time. We make one discovery after another in different areas of science; each one might be satisfying and complete in itself, but none are final. There's always something left to explore. Once we answer the last question, the answer leads to yet another question. The music from the lyre of Science continues to flow, rich and sweet, full and harmonious, but it never truly ends: there’s no resolution that the intellectual ear can feel content with.
Of the Supreme Cause.—In the utterance of Science, no cadence is heard with which the human mind can feel satisfied. Yet we cannot but go on listening for and expecting a satisfactory close. The notion of a cadence appears to be essential to our relish of the music. The idea of some closing strain seems to lurk among our own thoughts, waiting to be articulated in the notes which flow from the knowledge of external nature. The idea of something ultimate in our philosophical researches, something in which the mind can acquiesce, and which will leave us no further questions to ask, of whence, and why, and by what power, seems as if it belongs to us:—as if we could not have it withheld from us by any imperfection or incompleteness in the actual performances of science. What is the meaning of this conviction? What is the reality thus anticipated? Whither does the developement of this Idea conduct us?
Of the Supreme Cause.—In the words of Science, there’s no rhythm that satisfies the human mind. Still, we can’t help but keep listening for a satisfying conclusion. The idea of rhythm seems essential to our enjoyment of the music. The thought of some final resolution seems to linger in our minds, waiting to be expressed in the facts we gather from the natural world. The concept of something ultimate in our philosophical inquiries, something the mind can accept, and which won’t leave us with more questions about where, why, and what power, seems to belong to us:—as if we couldn't be denied it by any flaws or gaps in the current findings of science. What does this conviction mean? What reality are we expecting? Where does the exploration of this idea lead us?
We have already seen that a difficulty of the same kind, which arises in the contemplation of causes and effects considered as forming an historical series, drives us to the assumption of a First Cause, as an Axiom 252 to which our Idea of Causation in time necessarily leads. And as we were thus guided to a First Cause, in order of Succession, the same kind of necessity directs us to a Supreme Cause in order of Causation.
We have already noted that a similar difficulty, arising from looking at causes and effects as part of a historical timeline, leads us to assume a First Cause as a principle 252 to which our understanding of Causation over time naturally leads. Just as we were led to a First Cause in the sequence of events, the same necessity guides us to a Supreme Cause in the context of Causation.
On this most weighty subject it is difficult to speak fitly; and the present is not the proper occasion, even for most of that which may be said. But there are one or two remarks which flow from the general train of the contemplations we have been engaged in, and with which this Work must conclude.
On this important topic, it's hard to express ourselves appropriately, and this is not the right time to discuss much of what can be said. However, there are one or two points that come to mind from the general thoughts we've been considering, and this is where this work must come to an end.
We have seen how different are the kinds of cause to which we are led by scientific researches. Mechanical Forces are insufficient without Chemical Affinities; Chemical Agencies fail us, and we are compelled to have recourse to Vital Powers; Vital Powers cannot be merely physical, and we must believe in something hyperphysical, something of the nature of a Soul. Not only do biological inquiries lead us to assume an animal soul, but they drive us much further; they bring before us Perception, and Will evoked by Perception. Still more, these inquiries disclose to us Ideas as the necessary forms of Perception, in the actions of which we ourselves are conscious. We are aware, we cannot help being aware, of our Ideas and our Volitions as belonging to us, and thus we pass from things to persons; we have the idea of Personality awakened. And the idea of Design and Purpose, of which we are conscious in our own minds, we find reflected back to us, with a distinctness which we cannot overlook, in all the arrangements which constitute the frame of organized beings.
We've seen how different the types of causes are that scientific research leads us to. Mechanical Forces are not enough without Chemical Affinities; Chemical Agencies let us down, pushing us to turn to Vital Powers; Vital Powers cannot just be physical, and we must believe in something beyond the physical, something that resembles a Soul. Not only do biological studies lead us to assume an animal soul, but they take us even further; they introduce us to Perception and Will triggered by Perception. Even more, these studies reveal Ideas as necessary forms of Perception, in actions we are conscious of. We know, and can't help but know, that our Ideas and our Intentions belong to us, and in doing so, we shift from things to persons; the idea of Personality is awakened. The concept of Design and Purpose, which we are aware of in our own minds, is reflected back to us with an unmistakable clarity in all the arrangements that make up organized beings.
We cannot but reflect how widely diverse are the kinds of principles thus set before us;—by what vast strides we mount from the lower to the higher, as we proceed through that series of causes which the range of the sciences thus brings under our notice. Yet we know how narrow is the range of these sciences when compared with the whole extent of human knowledge. We cannot doubt that on many other subjects, besides those included in physical speculation, man has made out solid and satisfactory trains of 253 connexion;—has discovered clear and indisputable evidence of causation. It is manifest, therefore, that, if we are to attempt to ascend to the Supreme Cause—if we are to try to frame an idea of the Cause of all these subordinate causes;—we must conceive it as more different from any of them, than the most diverse are from each other;—more elevated above the highest, than the highest is above the lowest.
We can't help but think about how varied the principles presented to us are;—how significantly we progress from the lower levels to the higher ones as we move through the series of causes that the sciences reveal to us. Yet, we recognize how limited the range of these sciences is compared to the vastness of human knowledge. We have no doubt that in many other areas, beyond just physical phenomena, humans have established solid and satisfying connections;—they have discovered clear and undeniable evidence of causation. It’s clear, then, that if we are to try to understand the Supreme Cause—if we are to attempt to form an idea of the Cause of all these lower causes;—we must think of it as being more different from any of them than the most diverse things are from one another;—higher above the highest than the highest is above the lowest.
But further;—though the Supreme Cause must thus be inconceivably different from all subordinate causes, and immeasurably elevated above them all, it must still include in itself all that is essential to each of them, by virtue of that very circumstance that it is the Cause of their Causality. Time and Space,—Infinite Time and Infinite Space,—must be among its attributes; for we cannot but conceive Infinite Time and Space as attributes of the Infinite Cause of the universe. Force and Matter must depend upon it for their efficacy; for we cannot conceive the activity of Force, or the resistance of Matter, to be independent powers. But these are its lower attributes. The Vital Powers, the Animal Soul, which are the Causes of the actions of living things, are only the Effects of the Supreme Cause of Life. And this Cause, even in the lowest forms of organized bodies, and still more in those which stand higher in the scale, involves a reference to Ends and Purposes, in short, to manifest Final Causes. Since this is so, and since, even when we contemplate ourselves in a view studiously narrowed, we still find that we have Ideas, and Will and Personality, it would render our philosophy utterly incoherent and inconsistent with itself, to suppose that Personality, and Ideas, and Will, and Purpose, do not belong to the Supreme Cause from which we derive all that we have and all that we are.
But further;—even though the Supreme Cause must be unimaginably different from all subordinate causes, and far above them all, it must still encompass everything essential to each of them, because it is the Cause of their Causality. Time and Space—Infinite Time and Infinite Space—must be part of its attributes; because we cannot help but see Infinite Time and Space as attributes of the Infinite Cause of the universe. Force and Matter must rely on it for their effectiveness; because we can't think of the activity of Force, or the resistance of Matter, as independent powers. But these are its lower attributes. The Vital Powers, the Animal Soul, which are the Causes of the actions of living beings, are merely the Effects of the Supreme Cause of Life. And this Cause, even in the simplest forms of organized bodies, and even more in those that rank higher, involves a reference to Ends and Purposes, in short, to clear Final Causes. Since this is the case, and since, even when we view ourselves in a closely focused way, we still find that we have Ideas, Will, and Personality, it would make our philosophy completely incoherent and inconsistent to assume that Personality, and Ideas, and Will, and Purpose, do not belong to the Supreme Cause from which we derive everything we have and all that we are.
But we may go a step further;—though, in our present field of speculation, we confine ourselves to knowledge founded on the facts which the external world presents to us, we cannot forget, in speaking of such a theme as that to which we have thus been led, that these are but a small, and the least significant 254 portion of the facts which bear upon it. We cannot fail to recollect that there are facts belonging to the world within us, which more readily and strongly direct our thoughts to the Supreme Cause of all things. We can plainly discern that we have Ideas elevated above the region of mechanical causation, of animal existence, even of mere choice and will, which still have a clear and definite significance, a permanent and indestructible validity. We perceive as a fact, that we have a Conscience, judging of Right and Wrong; that we have Ideas of Moral Good and Evil, that we are compelled to conceive the organization of the moral world, as well as of the vital frame, to be directed to an end and governed by a purpose. And since the Supreme Cause is the cause of these facts, the Origin of these Ideas, we cannot refuse to recognize Him as not only the Maker, but the Governor of the World; as not only a Creative, but a Providential Power; as not only a Universal Father, but an Ultimate Judge.
But we can take it a step further; even though we currently focus on knowledge based on the facts that the external world shows us, we can't forget that these are just a small and the least significant 254 part of the facts that are related to it. We need to remember that there are facts within us that more readily and powerfully lead our thoughts to the Supreme Cause of everything. It’s clear that we have Ideas that rise above mere mechanical causation, animal existence, or simple choice and will, yet still hold a clear and definite significance, a lasting and unbreakable validity. We recognize that we have a Conscience that judges Right and Wrong; we have Ideas of Moral Good and Evil, and we feel compelled to understand the moral world, just like we do the living world, as being directed towards a purpose and governed by intention. And since the Supreme Cause is behind these facts and the Origin of these Ideas, we cannot ignore Him as not just the Creator but also the Governor of the World; not just a Creative force but also a Providential Power; not just a Universal Father, but an Ultimate Judge.
We have already passed beyond the boundary of those speculations which we proposed to ourselves as the basis of our conclusions. Yet we may be allowed to add one other reflection. If we find in ourselves Ideas of Good and Evil, manifestly bestowed upon us to be the guides of our conduct, which guides we yet find it impossible consistently to obey;—if we find ourselves directed, even by our natural light, to aim at a perfection of our moral nature from which we are constantly deviating through weakness and perverseness; if, when we thus lapse and err, we can find, in the region of human philosophy, no power which can efface our aberrations, or reconcile our actual with our ideal being, or give us any steady hope and trust with regard to our actions, after we have thus discovered their incongruity with their genuine standard;—if we discern that this is our condition, how can we fail to see that it is in the highest degree consistent with all the indications supplied by such a philosophy as that of which we have been attempting to lay the foundations, that the Supreme Cause, through whom man exists as 255 a moral being of vast capacities and infinite Hopes, should have Himself provided a teaching for our ignorance, a propitiation for our sin, a support for our weakness, a purification and sanctification of our nature?
We have already moved beyond the limits of the ideas we set for ourselves as the foundation of our conclusions. However, we can add one more thought. If we recognize within ourselves concepts of Good and Evil that are clearly given to guide our behavior, yet we find it impossible to follow those guides consistently; if we see that our natural instinct directs us to strive for a perfection of our moral nature, despite our regular failures due to weakness and stubbornness; if, when we falter and make mistakes, we cannot find, in the realm of human philosophy, any strength that can erase our missteps, reconcile our current self with the ideal self, or provide us with steady hope and trust regarding our actions after realizing how they clash with their true standard; if we understand that this is our situation, how can we not see that it fits perfectly with all the signs offered by the philosophy we have been trying to establish, that the Supreme Cause, through whom humans exist as moral beings with great potential and endless hopes, must have provided us with teachings for our ignorance, a means to atone for our sins, support for our weaknesses, and a way to purify and sanctify our nature?
And thus, in concluding our long survey of the grounds and structure of science, and of the lessons which the study of it teaches us, we find ourselves brought to a point of view in which we can cordially sympathize, and more than sympathize, with all the loftiest expressions of admiration and reverence and hope and trust, which have been uttered by those who in former times have spoken of the elevated thoughts to which the contemplation of the nature and progress of human knowledge gives rise. We can not only hold with Galen, and Harvey, and all the great physiologists, that the organs of animals give evidence of a purpose;—not only assert with Cuvier that this conviction of a purpose can alone enable us to understand every part of every living thing;—not only say with Newton that ‘every true step made in philosophy brings us nearer to the First Cause, and is on that account highly to be valued;’—and that ‘the business of natural philosophy is to deduce causes from effects, till we come to the very First Cause, which certainly is not mechanical;’—but we can go much farther, and declare, still with Newton, that ‘this beautiful system could have its origin no other way than by the purpose and command of an intelligent and powerful Being, who governs all things, not as the soul of the world, but as the Lord of the Universe; who is not only God, but Lord and Governor.’
And so, as we conclude our extensive exploration of the foundations and structure of science, along with the lessons it teaches us, we reach a perspective where we can genuinely connect, and even go beyond mere sympathy, with the highest expressions of admiration, respect, hope, and trust that have been voiced by those in the past who have described the profound thoughts that arise from contemplating the nature and development of human knowledge. We can not only agree with Galen, Harvey, and all the great physiologists that animal organs show evidence of a purpose;—not only affirm with Cuvier that this understanding of purpose is essential for grasping every aspect of every living being;—not only align with Newton that ‘every genuine advancement made in philosophy brings us closer to the First Cause and is therefore highly valuable;’—and that ‘the aim of natural philosophy is to derive causes from effects until we reach the very First Cause, which is certainly not mechanical;’—but we can go much further and state, still with Newton, that ‘this beautiful system could have originated only through the purpose and command of an intelligent and powerful Being, who governs all things, not as the soul of the world, but as the Lord of the Universe; who is not only God but also Lord and Governor.’
When we have advanced so far, there yet remains one step. We may recollect the prayer of one, the master in this school of the philosophy of science: ‘This also we humbly and earnestly beg;—that human things may not prejudice such as are divine;—neither that from the unlocking of the gates of sense, and the kindling of a greater natural light, anything may arise of incredulity or intellectual night towards divine mysteries; but rather that by our minds thoroughly 256 purged and cleansed from fancy and vanity, and yet subject and perfectly given up to the divine oracles, there may be given unto faith the things that are faith’s.’ When we are thus prepared for a higher teaching, we may be ready to listen to a greater than Bacon, when he says to those who have sought their God in the material universe, ‘Whom ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.’ And when we recollect how utterly inadequate all human language has been shown to be, to express the nature of that Supreme Cause of the Natural, and Rational, and Moral, and Spiritual world, to which our Philosophy points with trembling finger and shaded eyes, we may receive, with the less wonder but with the more reverence, the declaration which has been vouchsafed to us:
When we’ve come this far, there’s still one more step to take. We can remember the prayer of a master in this field of science: ‘We humbly and earnestly ask that human matters do not interfere with the divine; that the opening of our senses and the brightening of natural light do not lead to disbelief or confusion regarding divine mysteries; but instead, that our minds, completely cleared of imagination and vanity yet fully devoted to the divine truths, may receive what is meant for faith.’ When we are ready for deeper insight, we can listen to someone greater than Bacon, who tells those who have sought their God in the physical world, ‘What you worship without knowing, I’m here to declare to you.’ And as we remember how utterly inadequate human language is to express the nature of that Ultimate Cause of the Natural, Rational, Moral, and Spiritual worlds, to which our philosophy points with trembling fingers and shaded eyes, we may receive the revealed truth with less astonishment but greater reverence:
ΕΝ ΑΡΧΗ ΗΝ Ὁ ΛΟΓΟΣ, ΚΑI Ὁ ΛΟΓΟΣ ΗΝ ΠΡΟΣ ΤΟΝ ΘΕΟΝ, ΚΑI ΘΕΟΣ ΗΝ Ὁ ΛΟΓΟΣ.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
NOVUM ORGANON RENOVATUM.
New Organon Renewed.
BOOK IV.
of the language of science.
of scientific language.
Introduction.
Intro.
IT has been shown in the History of the Sciences, and has further appeared in the course of the History of Ideas, that almost every step in the progress of science is marked by the formation or appropriation of a technical term. Common language has, in most cases, a certain degree of looseness and ambiguity; as common knowledge has usually something of vagueness and indistinctness. In common cases too, knowledge usually does not occupy the intellect alone, but more or less interests some affection, or puts in action the fancy; and common language, accommodating itself to the office of expressing such knowledge, contains, in every sentence, a tinge of emotion or of imagination. But when our knowledge becomes perfectly exact and purely intellectual, we require a language which shall also be exact and intellectual;—which shall exclude alike vagueness and fancy, imperfection and superfluity;—in which each term shall convey a meaning steadily fixed and rigorously limited. Such a language that of science becomes, through the use of Technical Terms. And we must now endeavour to lay down some maxims and suggestions, by attention to which Technical Terms may be better fitted to answer their purpose. In order to do this, we shall in 258 the first place take a rapid survey of the manner in which Technical Terms have been employed from the earliest periods of scientific history.
IT has been shown in the History of the Sciences, and has also appeared throughout the History of Ideas, that almost every advancement in science is marked by the creation or adoption of a technical term. Everyday language often has a level of looseness and ambiguity; just as common knowledge tends to be somewhat vague and unclear. Typically, knowledge doesn't only engage the intellect but also stirs some emotions or sparks the imagination; and everyday language, adapting to express such knowledge, carries, in every sentence, a hint of emotion or imagination. However, when our knowledge becomes truly precise and entirely intellectual, we require a language that is also exact and intellectual—a language that eliminates vagueness and fanciful elements, imperfections, and excess; in which each term conveys a meaning that is consistently defined and strictly limited. Thus, the language of science becomes so through the use of technical terms. We now need to outline some principles and suggestions that can help ensure technical terms are more effective in serving their purpose. To accomplish this, we will first take a quick look at how technical terms have been used from the earliest periods of scientific history in 258.
The progress of the use of technical scientific language offers to our notice two different and successive periods; in the first of which, technical terms were formed casually, as convenience in each case prompted; while in the second period, technical language was constructed intentionally, with set purpose, with a regard to its connexion, and with a view of constructing a system. Though the casual and the systematic formation of technical terms cannot be separated by any precise date of time, (for at all periods some terms in some sciences have been framed unsystematically,) we may, as a general description, call the former the Ancient and the latter the Modern Period. In illustrating the two following Aphorisms, I will give examples of the course followed in each of these periods.
The development of technical scientific language brings to our attention two distinct and sequential periods. In the first, technical terms were created randomly, based on convenience for each situation. In the second period, technical language was purposefully constructed with intent, considering its connections and aiming to create a system. While we can't pinpoint an exact date separating the casual and systematic creation of technical terms (since, in all periods, some terms in certain sciences have been made without a system), we can generally refer to the former as the Ancient Period and the latter as the Modern Period. To illustrate the next two Aphorisms, I will provide examples of the approaches taken in each of these periods.
Aphorism I.
Aphorism I.
In the Ancient Period of Sciences, Technical Terms were formed in three different ways:—by appropriating common words and fixing their meaning;—by constructing terms containing a description;—by constructing terms containing reference to a theory.
In the Early Days of Science, technical terms were created in three different ways: by taking common words and defining their meanings; by building terms that included a description; and by creating terms that referenced a theory.
The earliest sciences offer the earliest examples of technical terms. These are Geometry, Arithmetic, and Astronomy; to which we have soon after to add Harmonics, Mechanics, and Optics. In these sciences, we may notice the above-mentioned three different modes in which technical terms were formed.
The earliest sciences provide the first examples of technical terms. These include Geometry, Arithmetic, and Astronomy; soon after, we also need to include Harmonics, Mechanics, and Optics. In these sciences, we can see the three different ways in which technical terms were created.
I. The simplest and first mode of acquiring technical terms, is to take words current in common usage, and by rigorously defining or otherwise fixing their meaning, to fit them for the expression of scientific truths. In this manner almost all the fundamental technical terms of Geometry were formed. A sphere, a cone, a cylinder, had among the Greeks, at first, 259 meanings less precise than those which geometers gave to these words, and besides the mere designation of form, implied some use or application. A sphere (σφαῖρα) was a hand-ball used in games; a cone (κῶνος) was a boy’s spinning-top, or the crest of a helmet; a cylinder (κύλινδρος) was a roller; a cube (κύβος) was a die: till these words were adopted by the geometers, and made to signify among them pure modifications of space. So an angle (γωνία) was only a corner; a point (σημεῖον) was a signal; a line (γραμμὴ) was a mark; a straight line (εὐθεῖα) was marked by an adjective which at first meant only direct. A plane (ἐπίπεδον) is the neuter form of an adjective, which by its derivation means on the ground, and hence flat. In all these cases, the word adopted as a term of science has its sense rigorously fixed; and where the common use of the term is in any degree vague, its meaning may be modified at the same time that it is thus limited. Thus a rhombus (ῥόμβος) by its derivation, might mean any figure which is twisted out of a regular form; but it is confined by geometers to that figure which has four equal sides, its angles being oblique. In like manner, a trapezium (τραπέζιον) originally signifies a table, and thus might denote any form; but as the tables of the Greeks had one side shorter than the opposite one, such a figure was at first called a trapezium. Afterwards the term was made to signify any figure with four unequal sides; a name being more needful in geometry for this kind of figure than for the original form.
I. The easiest and most straightforward way to acquire technical terms is to take words that are commonly used and, by clearly defining or otherwise establishing their meanings, adapt them to express scientific truths. This is how most of the fundamental technical terms in Geometry were created. A sphere, a cone, and a cylinder initially had meanings among the Greeks that were less specific than what geometers later defined these terms to mean, and in addition to just designating a shape, they suggested some use or application. A sphere (sphere) referred to a hand-ball used in games; a cone (κῶνος) was a child's spinning-top or the crest of a helmet; a cylinder (cylinder) denoted a roller; a cube (cube) meant a die—until these words were adopted by geometers to indicate pure modifications of space. Similarly, an angle (corner) was just a corner; a point (σημεῖον) was a signal; a line (line) was a mark; and a straight line (straight) was described using a word that originally meant just direct. A plane (flat) is a neutral form of an adjective that means on the ground, which is why it also means flat. In all these instances, the adopted scientific term has its meaning precisely defined; and where the common use of the term is somewhat vague, its meaning can be adjusted while still being restricted. For example, a rhombus (rhombus) could derive its meaning from any figure that is twisted out of a regular shape, but geometers restrict it to a figure with four equal sides with oblique angles. Similarly, a trapezium (table) originally meant a table, meaning it could denote any shape. However, since the tables used by the Greeks had one side that was shorter than the opposite side, such a shape was initially called a trapezium. Later on, the term evolved to signify any figure with four unequal sides, as a name became more necessary in geometry for this type of figure than for the original shape.
This class of technical terms, namely, words adopted from common language, but rendered precise and determinate for purposes of science, may also be exemplified in other sciences. Thus, as was observed in the early portion of the history of astronomy1, a day, a month, a year, described at first portions of time marked by familiar changes, but afterwards portions determined by rigorous mathematical definitions. The conception of the heavens as a revolving sphere, is so obvious, 260 that we may consider the terms which involve this conception as parts of common language; as the pole (πόλος); the arctic circle, which includes the stars that never set2; the horizon (ὁρίζων) a boundary, applied technically to the circle bounding the visible earth and sky. The turnings of the sun (τροπαὶ ἠελίοιο), which are mentioned by Hesiod, gave occasion to the term tropics, the circles at which the sun in his annual motion turns back from his northward or southward advance. The zones of the earth, (the torrid, temperate, and frigid;) the gnomon of a dial; the limb (or border) of the moon, or of a circular instrument, are terms of the same class. An eclipse (ἔκλειψις) is originally a deficiency or disappearance, and joined with the name of the luminary, an eclipse of the sun or of the moon, described the phenomenon; but when the term became technical, it sufficed, without addition, to designate the phenomenon.
This type of technical terms, meaning words borrowed from everyday language but made specific for scientific purposes, can also be seen in other fields of science. For example, as noted earlier in the history of astronomy1, a day, a month, and a year were initially defined as time periods marked by familiar changes, but later became strictly defined through mathematical definitions. The idea of the heavens as a revolving sphere is so clear that we can think of terms related to this concept as part of common language; such as the pole (pole), the arctic circle, which includes stars that never set2; the horizon (horizons), a boundary technically applied to the circle that separates the visible earth and sky. The turnings of the sun (τροπαῖ ἠελίοιο), mentioned by Hesiod, gave rise to the term tropics, referring to the circles where the sun turns back during its yearly journey either northward or southward. The zones of the earth (the torrid, temperate, and frigid); the gnomon of a sundial; and the limb (or edge) of the moon or a circular instrument are all terms of the same category. An eclipse (eclipse) originally meant a deficiency or disappearance, and when combined with the name of the celestial body, such as an eclipse of the sun or of the moon, it described a specific phenomenon; but once the term became technical, it was enough on its own to represent the phenomenon.
In Mechanics, the Greeks gave a scientific precision to very few words: we may mention weights (βάρεα), the arms of a lever (μήχεα), its fulcrum (ὑπομόχλιον), and the verb to balance (ἰσσοῤῥοπεῖν). Other terms which they used, as momentum (ῥοπὴ) and force (δύναμις), did not acquire a distinct and definite meaning till the time of Galileo, or later. We may observe that all abstract terms, though in their scientific application expressing mere conceptions, were probably at first derived from some word describing external objects. Thus the Latin word for force, vis, seems to be connected with a Greek word, ἲς, or ϝὶς, which often has nearly the same meaning; but originally, as it would seem, signified a sinew or muscle, the obvious seat of animal strength.
In Mechanics, the Greeks applied scientific precision to very few terms: we can mention weights (heavy), the arms of a lever (μήχεα), its fulcrum (___A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0___), and the verb to balance (Equal rights). Other terms they used, like momentum (ῥοπὴ) and force (power), didn't have a specific and clear meaning until the time of Galileo or later. It's important to note that all abstract terms, even though they express mere concepts in scientific contexts, likely originated from words describing tangible objects. For instance, the Latin word for force, vis, seems to be linked to a Greek word, ἲς, or ϝὶς, which often has a similar meaning; but originally, it appears to have signified a sinew or muscle, which is clearly associated with physical strength.
In later times, the limitation imposed upon a word by its appropriation to scientific purposes, is often more marked than in the cases above described. Thus the variation is made to mean, in astronomy, the second inequality of the moon’s motion; in magnetism, the variation signifies the angular deviation of the 261 compass-needle from the north; in pure mathematics, the variation of a quantity is the formula which expresses the result of any small change of the most general kind. In like manner, parallax (παράλλαξις) denotes a change in general, but is used by astronomers to signify the change produced by the spectator’s being removed from the center of the earth, his theoretical place, to the surface. Alkali at first denoted the ashes of a particular plant, but afterwards, all bodies having a certain class of chemical properties; and, in like manner, acid, the class opposed to alkali, was modified in signification by chemists, so as to refer no longer to the taste.
In modern times, the restrictions placed on a word by its use in scientific contexts can be even more pronounced than in the previously mentioned examples. For instance, in astronomy, variation refers to the second inequality of the moon’s motion; in magnetism, variation indicates the angular deviation of the 261 compass needle from north; in pure mathematics, the variation of a quantity is the formula that expresses the result of any small change of the most general kind. Similarly, parallax (parallax) generally means a change, but astronomers use it to describe the change that occurs when an observer moves from the center of the earth, their theoretical position, to the surface. Initially, alkali referred to the ashes of a specific plant, but it later came to encompass all substances with a certain class of chemical properties. Likewise, acid, the category that contrasts with alkali, had its meaning adjusted by chemists to no longer focus on taste.
Words thus borrowed from common language, and converted by scientific writers into technical terms, have some advantages and some disadvantages. They possess this great convenience, that they are understood after a very short explanation, and retained in the memory without effort. On the other hand, they lead to some inconvenience; for since they have a meaning in common language, a careless reader is prone to disregard the technical limitation of this meaning, and to attempt to collect their import in scientific books, in the same vague and conjectural manner in which he collects the purpose of words in common cases. Hence the language of science, when thus resembling common language, is liable to be employed with an absence of that scientific precision which alone gives it value. Popular writers and talkers, when they speak of force, momentum, action and reaction, and the like, often afford examples of the inaccuracy thus arising from the scientific appropriation of common terms.
Words borrowed from everyday language and turned into technical terms by scientists have both benefits and drawbacks. The great advantage is that they can be understood quickly with just a short explanation and are easily remembered. However, they also bring some downsides; because they have meanings in common language, a careless reader might ignore the specific technical definition and try to interpret them in the same unclear and speculative way as in everyday use. As a result, scientific language, when similar to common language, can lose the scientific precision that gives it its value. Popular writers and speakers, when discussing terms like force, momentum, action and reaction, often provide examples of the inaccuracies that arise from using common terms in a scientific context.
II. Another class of technical terms, which we find occurring as soon as speculative science assumes a distinct shape, consists of those which are intentionally constructed by speculators, and which contain some description or indication distinctive of the conception to which they are applied. Such are a parallelogram (παραλληλόγραμμον), which denotes a plane figure bounded by two pairs of parallel lines; a parallelopiped 262 (παραλληλοπίπεδον), which signifies a solid figure bounded by three pairs of parallel planes. A triangle (τρίγωνος, trigon) and a quadrangle (τετράγωνος, tetragon) were perhaps words invented independently of the mathematicians: but such words extended to other cases, pentagon, decagon, heccædecagon, polygon, are inventions of scientific men. Such also are tetrahedron, hexahedron, dodecahedron, tesseracontaoctohedron, polyhedron, and the like. These words being constructed by speculative writers, explain themselves, or at least require only some conventional limitation, easily adopted. Thus parallelogram, might mean a figure bounded by any number of sets of parallel lines, but it is conventionally restricted to a figure of four sides. So a great circle in a sphere means one which passes through the center of the sphere; and a small circle is any other. So in trigonometry, we have the hypotenuse (ὑποτενοῦσα), or subtending line, to designate the line subtending an angle, and especially a right angle. In this branch of mathematics we have many invented technical terms; as complement, supplement, cosine, cotangent, a spherical angle, the pole of a circle, or of a sphere. The word sine itself appears to belong to the class of terms already described as scientific appropriations of common terms, although its origin is somewhat obscure.
II. Another group of technical terms that emerge as speculative science takes a clear form includes those that are deliberately created by theorists and describe or indicate specific aspects of the concepts they relate to. Examples include a parallelogram (parallelogram), which represents a flat shape defined by two pairs of parallel lines; a parallelopiped (parallelepiped), which denotes a solid shape defined by three pairs of parallel planes. A triangle (triangle, trigon) and a quadrangle (square, tetragon) may have been created independently of mathematicians; however, terms like pentagon, decagon, hexadecagon, and polygon are innovations by scientific figures. This also includes terms like tetrahedron, hexahedron, dodecahedron, tesseracontaoctohedron, polyhedron, and similar ones. These words, crafted by theorists, are largely self-explanatory or need only a simple conventional understanding to grasp. For instance, a parallelogram could theoretically refer to a shape bounded by any number of sets of parallel lines, but it is conventionally understood to have four sides. A great circle on a sphere refers to one that passes through the center of the sphere, while a small circle refers to any other. In trigonometry, we use the term hypotenuse (ὑποτενοῦσα), or subtending line, to refer to the line opposite an angle, particularly a right angle. This field of mathematics has developed many specific terms like complement, supplement, cosine, cotangent, a spherical angle, the pole of a circle, or of a sphere. The term sine itself seems to fit into the category of terms that are scientific adaptations of common language, although its origins are somewhat unclear.
Mathematicians were naturally led to construct these and many other terms by the progress of their speculations. In like manner, when astronomy took the form of a speculative science, words were invented to denote distinctly the conceptions thus introduced. Thus the sun’s annual path among the stars, in which not only solar, but also all lunar eclipses occur, was termed the ecliptic. The circle which the sun describes in his diurnal motion, when the days and nights are equal, the Greeks called the equidiurnal (ἰσημερινὸς,) the Latin astronomers the equinoctial, and the corresponding circle on the earth was the equator. The ecliptic intersected the equinoctial in the equinoctial points. The solstices (in Greek, τροπαὶ) were the times when the sun arrested his motion northwards or 263 southwards; and the solstitial points (τὰ τροπικὰ σημεῖα) were the places, in the ecliptic where he then was. The name of meridians was given to circles passing through the poles of the equator; the solstitial colure (κόλουρος, curtailed), was one of these circles, which passes through the solstitial points, and is intercepted by the horizon.
Mathematicians naturally created these and many other terms as their ideas developed. Similarly, when astronomy became a speculative science, new words were formed to clearly convey the concepts that emerged. The sun's yearly path among the stars, where both solar and lunar eclipses occur, was called the ecliptic. The circle that the sun traces in its daily motion when day and night are equal was referred to by the Greeks as the equidiurnal (equatorial), and by Latin astronomers as the equinoctial, while the corresponding circle on Earth was the equator. The ecliptic intersected the equinoctial at the equinoctial points. The solstices (in Greek, trophies) were the times when the sun stopped moving north or south; and the solstitial points (the tropical points) were the locations on the ecliptic where it was at those times. The term meridians was applied to circles that pass through the poles of the equator; the solstitial colure (σμόλος, curtailed) was one of these circles, which passes through the solstitial points and is intersected by the horizon.
We have borrowed from the Arabians various astronomical terms, as Zenith, Nadir, Azimuth, Almacantar. And these words, which among the Arabians probably belonged to the first class, of appropriated scientific terms, are for us examples of the second class, invented scientific terms; although they differ from most that we have mentioned, in not containing an etymology corresponding to their meaning in any language with which European cultivators of science are generally familiar. Indeed, the distinction of our two classes, though convenient, is in a great measure, casual. Thus most of the words we formerly mentioned, as parallax, horizon, eclipse, though appropriated technical terms among the Greeks, are to us invented technical terms.
We have borrowed various astronomical terms from the Arabs, like Zenith, Nadir, Azimuth, and Almacantar. These words, which were likely part of the first group of borrowed scientific terms in Arabic, serve as examples of the second group—created scientific terms for us. However, they differ from most of the terms we’ve discussed because they don’t have an etymology that matches their meaning in any language that European scientists are generally familiar with. In fact, while it's useful to classify our terms into two groups, the distinction is often quite arbitrary. For instance, many of the words we mentioned earlier, like parallax, horizon, and eclipse, although they were borrowed technical terms from the Greeks, are considered created technical terms by us.
In the construction of such terms as we are now considering, those languages have a great advantage which possess a power of forming words by composition. This was eminently the case with the Greek language; and hence most of the ancient terms of science in that language, when their origin is once explained, are clearly understood and easily retained. Of modern European languages, the German possesses the greatest facility of composition; and hence scientific authors in that language are able to invent terms which it is impossible to imitate in the other languages of Europe. Thus Weiss distinguishes his various systems of crystals as zwei-und-zwei-gliedrig, ein-und-zwei-gliedrig, drey-und-drey-gliedrig, &c., (two-and-two-membered, one-and-two-membered, &c.) And Hessel, also a writer on crystallography, speaks of doubly-one-membered edges, four-and-three spaced rays, and the like.
In creating terms like the ones we're discussing now, languages that can form words by combining other words have a big advantage. This was especially true for Greek, so most ancient scientific terms in that language, once their origins are explained, are easy to understand and remember. Among modern European languages, German has the greatest ability to form compound words, allowing scientists who write in that language to create terms that are hard to replicate in other European languages. For example, Weiss differentiates his various types of crystals as zwei-und-zwei-gliedrig, ein-und-zwei-gliedrig, drey-und-drey-gliedrig, &c. (two-and-two-membered, one-and-two-membered, etc.). Similarly, Hessel, another author on crystallography, refers to doubly-one-membered edges, four-and-three spaced rays, and so on.
How far the composition of words, in such cases, may be practised in the English language, and the general question, what are the best rules and artifices 264 in such cases, I shall afterwards consider. In the mean time, I may observe that this list of invented technical terms might easily be much enlarged. Thus in harmonics we have the various intervals, as a Fourth, a Fifth, an Octave, (Diatessaron, Diapente, Diapason,) a Comma, which is the difference of a Major and Minor Tone; we have the various Moods or Keys, and the notes of various lengths, as Minims, Breves, Semibreves, Quavers. In chemistry, Gas was at first a technical term invented by Van Helmont, though it has now been almost adopted into common language. I omit many words which will perhaps suggest themselves to the reader, because they belong rather to the next class, which I now proceed to notice.
How much we can create new words in English and the broader question of what the best rules and techniques are for this will be discussed later. For now, I want to point out that this list of invented technical terms could easily be expanded. For example, in harmonics, we have different intervals like a Fourth, a Fifth, an Octave (Diatessaron, Diapente, Diapason), and a Comma, which is the difference between a Major and Minor Tone. We also have various Moods or Keys, and notes of different lengths like Minims, Breves, Semibreves, and Quavers. In chemistry, Gas was initially a technical term coined by Van Helmont, though it has now almost entered everyday language. I’ll skip over many terms that might come to mind for the reader, as they fit better in the next category, which I will now address.
III. The third class of technical terms consists of such as are constructed by men of science, and involve some theoretical idea in the meaning which their derivation implies. They do not merely describe, like the class last spoken of, but describe with reference to some doctrine or hypothesis which is accepted as a portion of science. Thus latitude and longitude, according to their origin, signify breadth and length; they are used, however, to denote measures of the distance of a place on the earth’s surface from the equator, and from the first meridian, of which distances, one cannot be called length more properly than the other. But this appropriation of these words may be explained by recollecting that the earth, as known to the ancient geographers, was much further extended from east to west than from north to south. The Precession of the equinoxes is a term which implies that the stars are fixed, while the point which is the origin of the measure of celestial longitude moves backward. The Right Ascension of a star is a measure of its position corresponding to terrestrial longitude; this quantity is identical with the angular ascent of the equinoctial point, when the star is in the horizon in a right sphere; that is, a sphere which supposes the spectator to be at the equator. The Oblique Ascension (a term now little used), is derived in like manner from an oblique sphere. The motion of a planet is direct or retrograde, in 265 consequentia (signa), or in antecedentia, in reference to a certain assumed standard direction for celestial motions, namely, the direction opposite to that of the sun’s daily motion, and agreeing with his annual motion among the stars; or with what is much more evident, the moon’s monthly motion. The equation of time is the quantity which must be added to or subtracted from the time marked by the sun, in order to reduce it to a theoretical condition of equable progress. In like manner the equation of the center of the sun or of the moon is the angle which must be added to, or subtracted from, the actual advance of the luminary in the heavens, in order to make its motion equable. Besides the equation of the center of the moon, which represents the first and greatest of her deviations from equable motion, there are many other equations, by the application of which her motion is brought nearer and nearer to perfect uniformity. The second of these equations is called the evection, the third the variation, the fourth the annual equation, The motion of the sun as affected by its inequalities is called his anomaly, which term denotes inequality. In the History of Astronomy, we find that the inequable motions of the sun, moon, and planets were, in a great measure, reduced to rule and system by the Greeks, by the aid of an hypothesis of circles, revolving, and carrying in their motion other circles which also revolved. This hypothesis introduced many technical terms, as deferent, epicycle, eccentric. In like manner, the theories which have more recently taken the place of the theory of epicycles have introduced other technical terms, as the elliptical orbit, the radius vector, and the equable description of areas by this radius, which phrases express the true laws of the planetary motions.
III. The third category of technical terms includes those created by scientists that involve some theoretical idea based on their origins. They don't just describe, like the previous category, but they describe in relation to a doctrine or hypothesis accepted as part of science. For example, latitude and longitude originally mean breadth and length; however, they're now used to indicate the distance of a location on the earth’s surface from the equator and from the prime meridian, where neither distance can be more accurately called length than the other. This use of these words can be understood by remembering that, as known to ancient geographers, the earth extended much further from east to west than from north to south. The term Precession of the equinoxes suggests that the stars are fixed while the starting point for measuring celestial longitude moves backward. The Right Ascension of a star measures its position relative to terrestrial longitude; this quantity is the same as the angular ascent of the equinoctial point when the star is on the horizon in a right sphere—meaning a sphere with the observer at the equator. The Oblique Ascension (a term that is now rarely used) similarly comes from an oblique sphere. A planet's motion is described as direct or retrograde, in 265 consequentia (signa), or in antecedentia, based on a specific assumed standard direction for celestial motions, which is opposite to the sun’s daily motion and aligns with its annual motion among the stars; or more clearly, the moon’s monthly motion. The equation of time is the amount that needs to be added or subtracted from the time indicated by the sun to adjust it to a theoretical condition of constant progress. Similarly, the equation of the center for the sun or moon is the angle that must be added to or subtracted from the actual progress of the celestial body to achieve uniform motion. Alongside the equation of the moon's center, which accounts for the first and most significant of her deviations from uniform motion, there are many other equations that further refine her motion towards complete uniformity. The second of these equations is called the evection, the third the variation, and the fourth the annual equation. The motion of the sun, influenced by its irregularities, is termed its anomaly, which indicates inequality. In the History of Astronomy, we see that the irregular motions of the sun, moon, and planets were largely organized into a structured system by the Greeks, using a theory of circles that revolve and carry with them other circles that also revolve. This theory introduced various technical terms like deferent, epicycle, and eccentric. Likewise, more recent theories that have replaced the epicycle theory have introduced new technical terms, such as elliptical orbit, radius vector, and the equable description of areas by this radius, which express the true laws of planetary motion.
There is no subject on which theoretical views have been so long and so extensively prevalent as astronomy, and therefore no other science in which there are so many technical terms of the kind we are now considering. But in other subjects also, so far as theories have been established, they have been accompanied by the introduction or fixation of technical terms. Thus, as 266 we have seen in the examination of the foundations of mechanics, the terms force and inertia derive their precise meaning from a recognition of the first law of motion; accelerating force and composition of motion involve the second law; moving force, momentum, action and reaction, are expressions which imply the third law. The term vis viva was introduced to express a general property of moving bodies; and other terms have been introduced for like purposes, as impetus by Smeaton, and work done, by other engineers. In the recent writings of several French engineers, the term travail is much employed, to express the work done and the force which does it: this term has been rendered by labouring force. The proposition which was termed the hydrostatic paradox had this name in reference to its violating a supposed law of the action of forces. The verb to gravitate, and the abstract term gravitation, sealed the establishment of Newton’s theory of the solar system.
There is no topic in which theoretical ideas have been as dominant and widely accepted as astronomy, and as a result, there are no other sciences that have so many specialized terms like the ones we're discussing. However, in other fields, whenever theories have been developed, they come with the introduction or establishment of technical terms. For example, from our exploration of the basics of mechanics, the terms force and inertia get their exact meaning from acknowledging the first law of motion; accelerating force and composition of motion relate to the second law; while moving force, momentum, action, and reaction are phrases that imply the third law. The term vis viva was created to express a general quality of moving objects; similar terms have been used for related purposes, like impetus by Smeaton, and work done by other engineers. Recently, several French engineers have frequently used the term travail to describe the work done and the force that performs it: this term has been translated as labouring force. The idea known as the hydrostatic paradox was named for its contradiction of a supposed law regarding the action of forces. The verb gravitate and the abstract term gravitation marked the confirmation of Newton’s theory of the solar system.
In some of the sciences, opinions, either false, or disguised in very fantastical imagery, have prevailed; and the terms which have been introduced during the reign of such opinions, bear the impress of the time. Thus in the days of alchemy, the substances with which the operator dealt were personified; and a metal when exhibited pure and free from all admixture was considered as a little king, and was hence called a regulus, a term not yet quite obsolete. In like manner, a substance from which nothing more of any value could be extracted, was dead, and was called a caput mortuum. Quick silver, that is, live silver (argentum vivum), was killed by certain admixtures, and was revived when restored to its pure state.
In some fields of science, opinions—whether inaccurate or wrapped in fanciful imagery—have taken hold; and the terminology created during those times reflects that era. For instance, during the age of alchemy, the substances the alchemists used were given human traits; a metal that was shown to be pure and free from any mixtures was viewed as a little king and was called a regulus, a term that isn’t quite outdated yet. Similarly, a substance from which no further valuable material could be extracted was considered dead and was referred to as a caput mortuum. Mercury, known as live silver (argentum vivum), was rendered inactive by certain mixtures and was revived when returned to its pure state.
We find a great number of medical terms which bear the mark of opinions formerly prevalent among physicians; and though these opinions hardly form a part of the progress of science, and were not presented in our History, we may notice some of these terms as examples of the mode in which words involve in their derivation obsolete opinions. Such words as hysterics, hypochondriac, melancholy, cholera, colic, quinsey 267 (squinantia, συνάγχη, a suffocation), megrim, migrane (hemicranium, the middle of the skull), rickets, (rachitis, from ῥάχις, the backbone), palsy, (paralysis, παράλυσις,) apoplexy (ἀποπληξία, a stroke), emrods, (αἱμοῤῥοΐδες, hemorrhoids, a flux of blood), imposthume, (corrupted from aposteme, ἀπόστημα, an abscess), phthisis (φθίσις, consumption), tympanum (τυμπανία, swelling), dropsy (hydropsy, ὕδρωψ,) sciatica, isciatica (ἰσκιαδικὴ, from ἰσκίον, the hip), catarrh (κατάῤῥους, a flowing down), diarrhœa (διαῤῥοία, a flowing through), diabetes (διαβήτης, a passing through), dysentery (δυσεντερία, a disorder of the entrails), arthritic pains (from ἄρθρα, the joints), are names derived from the supposed or real seat and circumstances of the diseases. The word from which the first of the above names is derived (ὑστέρα, the last place,) signifies the womb, according to its order in a certain systematic enumeration of parts. The second word, hypochondriac, means something affecting the viscera below the cartilage of the breastbone, which cartilage is called χόνδρος; melancholy and cholera derive their names from supposed affections of χολὴ, the bile. Colic is that which affects the colon (κῶλον), the largest member of the bowels. A disorder of the eye is called gutta serena (the ‘drop serene’ of Milton), in contradistinction to gutta turbida, in which the impediment to vision is perceptibly opake. Other terms also record the opinions of the ancient anatomists, as duodenum, a certain portion of the intestines, which they estimated as twelve inches long. We might add other allusions, as the tendon of Achilles.
We come across many medical terms that reflect ideas that were once common among doctors; although these ideas don't really contribute to the advancement of science and weren't included in our History, we can mention some of these terms as examples of how outdated beliefs are embedded in their origins. Words like hysterics, hypochondriac, melancholy, cholera, colic, quinsey 267 (squinantia, συνάγχη, meaning suffocation), megrim, migrane (hemicranium, the middle of the skull), rickets (rachitis, from ῥάχις, the backbone), palsy (paralysis, paralysis), apoplexy (apoplexy, meaning a stroke), emrods (hemorrhages, hemorrhoids, meaning a flow of blood), imposthume (derived from aposteme, abscess, meaning an abscess), phthisis (wasting, meaning consumption), tympanum (τύμπανο, meaning swelling), dropsy (hydropsy, Hydrops), sciatica (ἰσκιαδικὴ, from θήκη, the hip), catarrh (κατάῤῥους, meaning a flow down), diarrhœa (diarrhea, meaning a flow through), diabetes (diabetes, meaning a passing through), dysentery (dysentery, meaning a disorder of the intestines), and arthritic pains (from articles, meaning the joints) are names derived from the believed or actual location and context of the illnesses. The first of these terms originates from later, which means womb according to its position in a certain systematic listing of body parts. The second term, hypochondriac, refers to something affecting the organs below the breastbone's cartilage, which is called cartilage; melancholy and cholera are named after supposed issues with χολὴ, meaning bile. Colic affects the colon (κῶλον), the largest part of the intestines. An eye disorder is referred to as gutta serena (the "drop serene" of Milton), in contrast to gutta turbida, where the obstruction to vision is noticeably cloudy. Other terms also reflect the beliefs of ancient anatomists, like duodenum, a section of the intestines they thought was twelve inches long. We could mention other references, like the tendon of Achilles.
Astrology also supplied a number of words founded upon fanciful opinions; but this study having been expelled from the list of sciences, such words now survive, only so far as they have found a place in common language. Thus men were termed mercurial, martial, jovial, or saturnine, accordingly as their characters were supposed to be determined by the influence of the planets, Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, or Saturn. Other expressions, such as disastrous, ill-starred, exorbitant, lord of the ascendant, and hence ascendancy, influence, 268 a sphere of action, and the like, may serve to show how extensively astrological opinions have affected language, though the doctrine is no longer a recognized science.
Astrology also provided a lot of words based on imaginative beliefs; but since this field has been removed from the list of sciences, these words now exist only to the extent that they have made their way into everyday language. For example, people were called mercurial, martial, jovial, or saturnine, depending on how their personalities were thought to be influenced by the planets Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, or Saturn. Other terms like disastrous, ill-starred, exorbitant, lord of the ascendant, and thus ascendancy, influence, 268 a sphere of action, and similar ones illustrate how deeply astrological beliefs have impacted language, even though this theory is no longer accepted as a science.
The preceding examples will make it manifest that opinions, even of a recondite and complex kind, are often implied in the derivation of words; and thus will show how scientific terms, framed by the cultivators of science, may involve received hypotheses and theories. When terms are thus constructed, they serve not only to convey with ease, but to preserve steadily and to diffuse widely, the opinions which they thus assume. Moreover, they enable the speculator to employ these complex conceptions, the creations of science, and the results of much labour and thought, as readily and familiarly as if they were convictions borrowed at once from the senses. They are thus powerful instruments in enabling philosophers to ascend from one step of induction and generalization to another; and hereby contribute powerfully to the advance of knowledge and truth.
The previous examples clearly show that even complex and obscure opinions are often implied in the origins of words. This illustrates how scientific terms, created by those in the field, can reflect accepted theories and hypotheses. When terms are made this way, they not only make it easier to communicate but also help maintain and spread the opinions they represent. Additionally, they allow thinkers to use these complex ideas—products of science and extensive effort and consideration—as easily and naturally as if they were straightforward observations taken directly from experience. This makes them effective tools for philosophers to build on one level of reasoning and generalization to the next, significantly contributing to the progress of knowledge and truth.
It should be noticed, before we proceed, that the names of natural objects, when they come to be considered as the objects of a science, are selected according to the processes already enumerated. For the most part, the natural historian adopts the common names of animals, plants, minerals, gems, and the like, and only endeavours to secure their steady and consistent application. But many of these names imply some peculiar, often fanciful, belief respecting the object.
It’s important to note, before we continue, that the names we use for natural objects, when they are examined as part of a science, are chosen based on the processes mentioned earlier. Generally, natural historians use the common names for animals, plants, minerals, gems, and similar items, and they work to ensure these names are applied consistently. However, many of these names suggest certain unique, often imaginative, beliefs about the object.
Various plants derive their names from their supposed virtues, as herniaria, rupture-wort; or from legends, as herba Sancti Johannis, St. John’s wort. The same is the case with minerals: thus the topaz was asserted to come from an island so shrouded in mists that navigators could only conjecture (τοπάζειν) where it was. In these latter cases, however, the legend is often not the true origin of the name, but is suggested by it.
Various plants get their names from their supposed benefits, like herniaria or rupture-wort; or from stories, like herba Sancti Johannis or St. John’s wort. The same applies to minerals: for example, the topaz was said to come from an island so covered in fog that sailors could only guess (τοπάζειν) where it was located. In these cases, however, the story often isn’t the actual origin of the name but is instead suggested by it.
The privilege of constructing names where they are wanted, belongs to natural historians no less than to 269 the cultivators of physical science; yet in the ancient world, writers of the former class appear rarely to have exercised this privilege, even when they felt the imperfections of the current language. Thus Aristotle repeatedly mentions classes of animals which have no name, as co-ordinate with classes that have names; but he hardly ventures to propose names which may supply these defects3. The vast importance of nomenclature in natural history was not recognized till the modern period.
The ability to create names where they're needed belongs to natural historians just as much as it does to those in the physical sciences. However, in the ancient world, writers in the former group rarely took advantage of this ability, even when they noticed shortcomings in the language of their time. For instance, Aristotle often refers to groups of animals that have no names alongside those that do, but he hardly dares to suggest names to fill those gaps. The crucial role of naming in natural history wasn't fully acknowledged until the modern era.
We have, however, hitherto considered only the formation or appropriation of single terms in science; except so far as several terms may in some instances be connected by reference to a common theory. But when the value of technical terms began to be fully appreciated, philosophers proceeded to introduce them into their sciences more copiously and in a more systematic manner. In this way, the modern history of technical language has some features of a different aspect from the ancient; and must give rise to a separate Aphorism.
We have, however, only looked at the creation or use of individual terms in science so far; except in cases where multiple terms might be linked through a shared theory. But as the importance of technical terms became more recognized, philosophers started to incorporate them into their fields more extensively and systematically. In this way, the modern history of technical language has some differences compared to the ancient, and it deserves a separate Aphorism.
Aphorism II.
Aphorism II.
In the Modern Period of Science, besides the three processes anciently employed in the formation of technical terms, there have been introduced Systematic Nomenclature, Systematic Terminology, and the Systematic Modification of Terms to express theoretical relations4.
In the modern era of science, in addition to the three methods used in ancient times for creating technical terms, there have been new approaches like Systematic Nomenclature, Systematic Terminology, and the Systematic Modification of Terms to convey theoretical relationships.4.
Writers upon science have gone on up to modern times forming such technical terms as they had occasion for, by the three processes above 270 described;—namely, appropriating and limiting words in common use;—constructing for themselves words descriptive of the conception which they wished to convey;—or framing terms which by their signification imply the adoption of a theory. Thus among the terms introduced by the study of the connexion between magnetism and electricity, the word pole is an example of the first kind; the name of the subject, electro-magnetism, of the second; and the term current, involving an hypothesis of the motion of a fluid, is an instance of the third class. In chemistry, the term salt was adopted from common language, and its meaning extended to denote any compound of a certain kind; the term neutral salt implied the notion of a balanced opposition in the two elements of the compound; and such words as subacid and superacid, invented on purpose, were introduced to indicate the cases in which this balance was not attained. Again, when the phlogistic theory of chemistry was established, the term phlogiston was introduced to express the theory, and from this such terms as phlogisticated and dephlogisticated were derived, exclusively words of science. But in such instances as have just been given, we approach towards a systematic modification of terms, which is a peculiar process of modern times. Of this, modern chemistry forms a prominent example, which we shall soon consider, but we shall first notice the other processes mentioned in the Aphorism.
Authors on science have continued into modern times creating technical terms as needed, using the three methods described above 270: first, by appropriating and narrowing down common words; second, by inventing new words to describe the concepts they wanted to express; or third, by creating terms that imply the acceptance of a theory. For example, in the study of the relationship between magnetism and electricity, the word pole is an example from the first method; the subject name electro-magnetism represents the second; and the term current, which suggests the hypothesis of fluid motion, falls under the third category. In chemistry, the term salt was taken from everyday language and its definition was expanded to refer to any certain kind of compound; the term neutral salt indicated a balance between the two elements in the compound; and terms like subacid and superacid, created for this purpose, were introduced to indicate cases where this balance was lacking. Additionally, when the phlogistic theory of chemistry was developed, the term phlogiston was created to describe the theory, leading to the creation of words like phlogisticated and dephlogisticated, which are exclusively scientific terms. However, in the examples provided, we begin to see a systematic modification of terms, which is a characteristic process of modern times. Modern chemistry is a key example of this, which we will explore shortly, but first we will look at the other methods mentioned in the Aphorism.
I. In ancient times, no attempt was made to invent or select a Nomenclature of the objects of Natural History which should be precise and permanent. The omission of this step by the ancient naturalists gave rise to enormous difficulty and loss of time when the sciences resumed their activity. We have seen in the history of the sciences of classification, and of botany in especial5, that the early cultivators of that study in modern times endeavoured to identify all the plants described by Greek and Roman writers with those which grow in the north of Europe; and were involved 271 in endless confusion6, by the multiplication of names of plants, at the same time superfluous and ambiguous. The Synonymies which botanists (Bauhin and others) found it necessary to publish, were the evidences of these inconveniences. In consequence of the defectiveness of the ancient botanical nomenclature, we are even yet uncertain with respect to the identification of some of the most common trees mentioned by classical writers7. The ignorance of botanists respecting the importance of nomenclature operated in another manner to impede the progress of science. As a good nomenclature presupposes a good system of classification, so, on the other hand, a system of classification cannot become permanent without a corresponding nomenclature. Cæsalpinus, in the sixteenth century8, published an excellent system of arrangement for plants; but this, not being connected with any system of names, was never extensively accepted, and soon fell into oblivion. The business of framing a scientific botanical classification was in this way delayed for about a century. In the same manner, Willoughby’s classification of fishes, though, as Cuvier says, far better than any which preceded it, was never extensively adopted, in consequence of having no nomenclature connected with it.
I. In ancient times, there was no effort to create or choose a naming system for the objects of Natural History that was precise and lasting. This lack of action by ancient naturalists led to significant difficulties and wasted time when the sciences became active again. We’ve seen in the history of classification sciences, especially botany 5, that the early practitioners in modern times tried to match all the plants described by Greek and Roman authors with those that grow in northern Europe; and they faced endless confusion 6, due to the sheer number of plant names that were both unnecessary and unclear. The Synonymies published by botanists like Bauhin and others were proof of these challenges. Because of the shortcomings in the ancient botanical naming system, we still struggle to identify some of the most common trees mentioned by classical writers 7. The botanists' lack of understanding regarding the importance of nomenclature created another obstacle to the advancement of science. Just as a good naming system relies on an effective classification system, a classification system cannot be lasting without an associated naming system. Cæsalpinus, in the sixteenth century 8, introduced an excellent plant arrangement system; however, since it was not linked to a naming system, it was never widely accepted and quickly faded into obscurity. As a result, the effort to establish a scientific botanical classification was delayed for about a century. Similarly, Willoughby’s classification of fishes, although, as Cuvier noted, much better than any that came before it, was never widely adopted because it lacked a connected nomenclature.
II. Probably one main cause which so long retarded the work of fixing at the same time the arrangement and the names of plants, was the great number of minute and diversified particulars in the structure of each plant which such a process implied. The stalks, leaves, flowers, and fruits of vegetables, with their appendages, may vary in so many ways, that common language is quite insufficient to express clearly and precisely their resemblances and differences. Hence botany required not only a fixed system of names of plants, but also an artificial system of phrases fitted to describe their parts: not only a Nomenclature, but also 272 a Terminology. The Terminology was, in fact, an instrument indispensably requisite in giving fixity to the Nomenclature. The recognition of the kinds of plants must depend upon the exact comparison of their resemblances and differences; and to become a part of permanent science, this comparison must be recorded in words.
II. One major reason that delayed the effort to establish both the classification and names of plants for so long was the vast number of tiny and varied details in the structure of each plant that this process involved. The stems, leaves, flowers, and fruits of plants, along with their features, can differ in so many ways that everyday language is inadequate to clearly and accurately convey their similarities and differences. As a result, botany needed not only a consistent system of names for plants but also an artificial system of terms designed to describe their components: not just a Nomenclature, but also 272 a Terminology. The Terminology was, in fact, an essential tool for solidifying the Nomenclature. Identifying plant species depends on closely comparing their similarities and differences; and to be a part of permanent science, this comparison must be documented in words.
The formation of an exact descriptive language for botany was thus the first step in that systematic construction of the technical language of science, which is one of the main features in the intellectual history of modern times. The ancient botanists, as De Candolle9 says, did not make any attempt to select terms of which the sense was rigorously determined; and each of them employed in his descriptions the words, metaphors, or periphrases which his own genius suggested. In the History of Botany10, I have noticed some of the persons who contributed to this improvement. ‘Clusius,’ it is there stated, ‘first taught botanists to describe well. He introduced exactitude, precision, neatness, elegance, method: he says nothing superfluous; he omits nothing necessary.’ This task was further carried on by Jung and Ray11. In these authors we see the importance which began to be attached to the exact definition of descriptive terms; for example, Ray quotes Jung’s definition of Caulis, a stalk.
The creation of a precise descriptive language for botany was the initial step in the systematic development of the technical language of science, which is a key element in the intellectual history of modern times. As De Candolle says, ancient botanists didn't try to choose terms with strictly defined meanings; instead, each one used the words, metaphors, or phrases that their own creativity inspired. In the History of Botany, I mentioned some of the individuals who helped make this progress. It notes that 'Clusius' was the first to teach botanists how to describe things well. He brought in accuracy, precision, clarity, style, and organization: he said nothing unnecessary and left out nothing essential. This work was continued by Jung and Ray. In these authors, we can see the growing importance placed on the precise definition of descriptive terms; for instance, Ray references Jung’s definition of Caulis, meaning a stalk.
The improvement of descriptive language, and the formation of schemes of classification of plants, went on gradually for some time, and was much advanced by Tournefort. But at last Linnæus embodied and followed out the convictions which had gradually been accumulating in the breasts of botanists; and by remodelling throughout both the terminology and the nomenclature of botany, produced one of the greatest reforms which ever took place in any science. He thus supplied a conspicuous example of such a reform, and a most admirable model of a language, from which 273 other sciences may gather great instruction. I shall not here give any account of the terms and words introduced by Linnæus. They have been exemplified in the History of Science12; and the principles which they involve I shall consider separately hereafter. I will only remind the reader that the great simplification in nomenclature which was the result of his labours, consisted in designating each kind of plant by a binary term consisting of the name of the genus combined with that of the species: an artifice seemingly obvious, but more convenient in its results than could possibly have been anticipated.
The enhancement of descriptive language and the development of plant classification systems progressed gradually for some time, significantly aided by Tournefort. Ultimately, Linnæus encapsulated and acted upon the ideas that had slowly been forming in the minds of botanists. By completely redefining both the terminology and nomenclature of botany, he achieved one of the most significant reforms in any scientific field. He therefore provided a striking example of such a reform and an excellent model of a language that other sciences can learn a great deal from. I won't go into detail about the terms and words introduced by Linnæus here. They have been illustrated in the History of Science12; and I will address the principles they involve separately later on. I will only remind the reader that the major simplification in nomenclature resulting from his work consisted of naming each type of plant with a binary term that combines the name of the genus with that of the species: a method that seems straightforward but turned out to be far more beneficial than anyone could have expected.
Since Linnæus, the progress of Botanical Anatomy and of Descriptive Botany have led to the rejection of several inexact expressions, and to the adoption of several new terms, especially in describing the structure of the fruit and the parts of cryptogamous plants. Hedwig, Medikus, Necker, Desvaux, Mirbel, and especially Gærtner, Link, and Richard, have proposed several useful innovations, in these as in other parts of the subject; but the general mass of the words now current consists still, and will probably continue to consist, of the terms established by the Swedish Botanist13.
Since Linnæus, advancements in Botanical Anatomy and Descriptive Botany have led to the discarding of several inaccurate terms and the introduction of new ones, particularly for describing the structure of fruits and parts of cryptogamous plants. Hedwig, Medikus, Necker, Desvaux, Mirbel, and especially Gærtner, Link, and Richard have suggested several valuable innovations in these areas and others; however, the majority of currently used terms still come from the Swedish Botanist13.
When it was seen that botany derived so great advantages from a systematic improvement of its language, it was natural that other sciences, and especially classificatory sciences, should endeavour to follow its example. This attempt was made in Mineralogy by Werner, and afterwards further pursued by Mohs. Werner’s innovations in the descriptive language of Mineralogy were the result of great acuteness, an intimate acquaintance with minerals, and a most methodical spirit: and were in most respects great improvements upon previous practices. Yet the introduction of them into Mineralogy was far from regenerating that science, as Botany had been regenerated by the Linnæan reform. It would seem that the perpetual 274 scrupulous attention to most minute differences, (as of lustre, colour, fracture,) the greater part of which are not really important, fetters the mind, rather than disciplines it or arms it for generalization. Cuvier has remarked14 that Werner, after his first Essay on the Characters of Minerals, wrote little; as if he had been afraid of using the system which he had created, and desirous of escaping from the chains which he had imposed upon others. And he justly adds, that Werner dwelt least, in his descriptions, upon that which is really the most important feature of all, the crystalline structure. This, which is truly a definite character, like those of Botany, does, when it can be clearly discerned, determine the place of the mineral in a system. This, therefore, is the character which, of all others, ought to be most carefully expressed by an appropriate language. This task, hardly begun by Werner, has since been fully executed by others, especially by Romé de l’Isle, Haüy, and Mohs. All the forms of crystals can be described in the most precise manner by the aid of the labours of these writers and their successors. But there is one circumstance well worthy our notice in these descriptions. It is found that the language in which they can best be conveyed is not that of words, but of symbols. The relations of space which are involved in the forms of crystalline bodies, though perfectly definite, are so complex and numerous, that they cannot be expressed, except in the language of mathematics: and thus we have an extensive and recondite branch of mathematical science, which is, in fact, only a part of the Terminology of the mineralogist.
When it became clear that botany gained significant advantages from a systematic improvement of its language, it was only natural for other sciences, especially those focused on classification, to try to emulate its success. This effort was initiated in Mineralogy by Werner and further pursued by Mohs. Werner's innovations in the descriptive language of Mineralogy stemmed from sharp insights, a deep understanding of minerals, and a highly methodical approach, leading to substantial improvements over previous methods. However, the introduction of these innovations did not revitalize the field of Mineralogy in the same way that the Linnæan reform transformed Botany. It seems that the constant, meticulous focus on minor distinctions, such as luster, color, and fracture—most of which are not truly significant—constrains the mind rather than allowing it to develop generalization skills. Cuvier noted that Werner, after his initial *Essay on the Characters of Minerals*, wrote little more, as if he feared using the system he had created and wanted to break free from the restrictions he had placed on others. Cuvier rightly pointed out that Werner paid the least attention, in his descriptions, to what is actually the most critical feature: crystalline structure. This is a clear characteristic, akin to those in Botany, that, when distinctly recognized, establishes the mineral's placement within a system. Therefore, this is the characteristic that should be communicated with the most precise language. This task, barely started by Werner, has since been fully developed by others, particularly Romé de l’Isle, Haüy, and Mohs. All forms of crystals can now be described with precision thanks to the efforts of these authors and their successors. However, one important aspect of these descriptions deserves attention. It turns out that the best way to convey them isn’t through words but through *symbols*. The spatial relationships involved in the shapes of crystalline bodies, while perfectly defined, are so intricate and numerous that they can only be expressed through mathematical language. Thus, we have a vast and specialized area of mathematical science that serves, in fact, as part of the mineralogist's terminology.
The Terminology of Mineralogy being thus reformed, an attempt was made to improve its Nomenclature also, by following the example of Botany. Professor Mohs was the proposer of this innovation. The names framed by him were, however, not composed of two but of three elements, designating respectively the Species, the Genus, and the Order15: thus he has such species as 275 Rhombohedral Lime Haloide, Octahedral Fluor Haloide, Prismatic Hal Baryte. These names have not been generally adopted; nor is it likely that any names constructed on such a scheme will find acceptance among mineralogists, till the higher divisions of the system are found to have some definite character. We see no real mineralogical significance in Mohs’s Genera and Orders, and hence we do not expect them to retain a permanent place in the science.
The Terminology of Mineralogy has been reformed, and there was an effort to also improve its naming system by taking inspiration from Botany. Professor Mohs proposed this change. However, the names he created were made up of three parts, representing the Species, the Genus, and the Order15: for example, he identified species like 275 Rhombohedral Lime Haloide, Octahedral Fluor Haloide, and Prismatic Hal Baryte. These names haven't gained widespread acceptance, nor is it likely that any naming convention based on such a structure will be embraced by mineralogists until the broader categories of the system are shown to have clear characteristics. We don't see any significant mineralogical value in Mohs’s Genera and Orders, so we don't anticipate they will have a lasting role in the field.
The only systematic names which have hitherto been generally admitted in Mineralogy, are those expressing the chemical constitution of the substance; and these belong to a system of technical terms different from any we have yet spoken of, namely to terms formed by systematic modification.
The only systematic names that have been widely accepted in Mineralogy so far are the ones that reflect the chemical makeup of the substance. These names are part of a set of technical terms that differ from any we've discussed before, specifically terms created through systematic modification.
III. The language of Chemistry was already, as we have seen, tending to assume a systematic character, even under the reign of the phlogiston theory. But when oxygen succeeded to the throne, it very fortunately happened that its supporters had the courage and the foresight to undertake a completely new and systematic recoinage of the terms belonging to the science. The new nomenclature was constructed upon a principle hitherto hardly applied in science, but eminently commodious and fertile; namely, the principle of indicating a modification of relations of elements, by a change in the termination of the word. Thus the new chemical school spoke of sulphuric and sulphurous acids; of sulphates and sulphites of bases; and of sulphurets of metals; and in like manner, of phosphoric and phosphorous acids, of phosphates, phosphites, phosphurets. In this manner a nomenclature was produced, in which the very name of a substance indicated at once its constitution and place in the system.
III. The language of Chemistry was already, as we’ve seen, starting to take on a systematic form, even during the time of the phlogiston theory. However, when oxygen took over, it was fortunate that its advocates had the courage and vision to completely revamp the terms used in the field. The new naming system was built on a principle that had barely been used in science before, but was very useful and productive; specifically, the principle of showing a change in the relationships of elements by altering the ending of the word. So, the new chemistry community referred to sulphuric and sulphurous acids; to sulphates and sulphites of bases; and to sulphurets of metals; similarly, they used phosphoric and phosphorous acids, phosphates, phosphites, and phosphurets. This way, a naming system was created where the name of a substance clearly indicated its structure and position within the system.
The introduction of this chemical language can never cease to be considered one of the most important steps ever made in the improvement of technical terms; and as a signal instance of the advantages which may result from artifices apparently trivial, if employed in a manner conformable to the laws of phenomena, and systematically pursued. It was, however, proved that 276 this language, with all its merits, had some defects. The relations of elements in composition were discovered to be more numerous than the modes of expression which the terminations supplied. Besides the sulphurous and sulphuric acids, it appeared there were others; these were called the hyposulphurous and hyposulphuric: but these names, though convenient, no longer implied, by their form, any definite relation. The compounds of Nitrogen and Oxygen are, in order, the Protoxide, the Deutoxide or Binoxide; Hyponitrous Acid, Nitrous Acid, and Nitric Acid. The nomenclature here ceases to be systematic. We have three oxides of Iron, of which we may call the first the Protoxide, but we cannot call the others the Deutoxide and Trioxide, for by doing so we should convey a perfectly erroneous notion of the proportions of the elements. They are called the Protoxide, the Black Oxide, and the Peroxide. We are here thrown back upon terms quite unconnected with the system.
The introduction of this chemical language will always be seen as one of the most important advancements in improving technical terms. It’s a clear example of the benefits that can come from seemingly trivial methods when applied according to the laws of nature and pursued systematically. However, it was shown that 276 this language, despite its strengths, had some weaknesses. The relationships between elements in compounds were found to be more numerous than the ways those relationships could be expressed with the existing endings. In addition to sulphurous and sulphuric acids, there were others identified; these were called hyposulphurous and hyposulphuric. But these names, while convenient, no longer suggested a clear relationship based on their forms. The compounds of Nitrogen and Oxygen are, in order, the Protoxide, the Deutoxide or Binoxide; Hyponitrous Acid, Nitrous Acid, and Nitric Acid. The naming system here becomes inconsistent. We have three oxides of Iron, which we can label as the Protoxide, but we can’t refer to the others as Deutoxide and Trioxide because that would give a completely misleading idea of the proportions of the elements. They are named the Protoxide, the Black Oxide, and the Peroxide. This brings us back to terms that are not connected to the system.
Other defects in the nomenclature arose from errours in the theory; as for example the names of the muriatic, oxymuriatic, and hyperoxymuriatic acids; which, after the establishment of the new theory of chlorine, were changed to hydrochloric acid, chlorine, and chloric acid.
Other issues in the naming came from mistakes in the theory; for instance, the names of muriatic, oxymuriatic, and hyperoxymuriatic acids, which, after the new theory of chlorine was established, were changed to hydrochloric acid, chlorine, and chloric acid.
Thus the chemical system of nomenclature, founded upon the oxygen theory, while it shows how much may be effected by a good and consistent scheme of terms, framed according to the real relations of objects, proves also that such a scheme can hardly be permanent in its original form, but will almost inevitably become imperfect and anomalous, in consequence of the accumulation of new facts, and the introduction of new generalizations. Still, we may venture to say that such a scheme does not, on this account, become worthless; for it not only answers its purpose in the stage of scientific progress to which it belongs:—so far as it is not erroneous, or merely conventional, but really systematic and significant of truth, its terms can be translated at once into the language of any higher generalization which is afterwards arrived at. If terms express 277 relations really ascertained to be true, they can never lose their value by any change of the received theory. They are like coins of pure metal, which, even when carried into a country which does not recognize the sovereign whose impress they bear, are still gladly received, and may, by the addition of an explanatory mark, continue part of the common currency of the country.
Thus, the chemical naming system based on the oxygen theory demonstrates how much can be achieved through a solid and consistent framework of terms that reflect the actual relationships between objects. It also shows that such a system is unlikely to remain unchanged in its original form; it will almost definitely become flawed and inconsistent due to the accumulation of new facts and the introduction of new generalizations. However, we can confidently say that this scheme does not lose its value for this reason; it serves its purpose within the stage of scientific progress it represents. As long as it’s not incorrect or just conventional, but truly systematic and meaningful, its terms can be easily translated into the language of any higher-level generalization that is developed later. If the terms express relationships that have been verified as true, they will never lose their worth, regardless of changes in the prevailing theory. They are like coins made of pure metal, which, even when taken to a country that does not recognize the authority whose image they carry, are still accepted and can continue to circulate as part of the common currency in that country with a simple explanatory mark.
These two great instances of the reform of scientific language, in Botany and in Chemistry, are much the most important and instructive events of this kind which the history of science offers. It is not necessary to pursue our historical survey further. Our remaining Aphorisms respecting the Language of Science will be collected and illustrated indiscriminately, from the precepts and the examples of preceding philosophers of all periods16.
These two significant examples of the reform of scientific language, in Botany and Chemistry, are by far the most important and educational events of this kind in the history of science. There's no need to continue our historical overview. Our remaining Aphorisms about the Language of Science will be gathered and explained without distinction, drawing from the rules and examples of philosophers from all eras16.
We may, however, remark that Aphorisms III., IV., V., VI., VII., respect peculiarly the Formation of Technical Terms by the Appropriation of Common Words, while the remaining ones apply to the Formation of New Terms.
We can, however, note that Aphorisms III, IV, V, VI, and VII specifically deal with the creation of technical terms through the use of common words, while the others relate to the creation of new terms.
It does not appear possible to lay down a system of rules which may determine and regulate the construction of all technical terms, on all the occasions on which the progress of science makes them necessary or convenient. But if we can collect a few maxims such as have already offered themselves to the minds of philosophers, or such as may be justified by the instances by which we shall illustrate them, these maxims may avail to guide us in doubtful cases, and to prevent our aiming at advantages which are unattainable, or being disturbed by seeming imperfections which are really no evils. I shall therefore state such maxims of this kind as seem most sound and useful. 278
It doesn't seem possible to create a set of rules that can define and regulate the creation of all technical terms whenever advancements in science require or make them useful. However, if we can gather a few principles that have already been proposed by philosophers, or that can be supported by the examples we use to explain them, these principles might help guide us in uncertain situations and prevent us from pursuing unattainable benefits or getting upset by apparent flaws that are actually not problems. Therefore, I will outline the principles that seem most reasonable and helpful. 278
Aphorism III.
Aphorism III.
In framing scientific terms, the appropriation of old words is preferable to the invention of new ones.
When creating scientific terms, it's better to use existing words than to come up with new ones.
This maxim is stated by Bacon in his usual striking manner. After mentioning Metaphysic, as one of the divisions of Natural Philosophy, he adds17: ‘Wherein I desire it may be conceived that I use the word metaphysic in a different sense from that that is received: and in like manner I doubt not but it will easily appear to men of judgment that in this and other particulars, wheresoever my conception and notion may differ from the ancient, yet I am studious to keep the ancient terms. For, hoping well to deliver myself from mistaking by the order and perspicuous expressing of that I do propound; I am otherwise zealous and affectionate to recede as little from antiquity, either in terms or opinions, as may stand with truth, and the proficience of knowledge, . . . To me, that do desire, as much as lieth in my pen, to ground a sociable intercourse between antiquity and proficience, it seemeth best to keep a way with antiquity usque ad aras; and therefore to retain the ancient terms, though I sometimes alter the uses and definitions; according to the moderate proceeding in civil governments, when, although there be some alteration, yet that holdeth which Tacitus wisely noteth, eadem magistratuum vocabula.’
This principle is expressed by Bacon in his characteristic striking way. After mentioning Metaphysic as one of the branches of Natural Philosophy, he adds17: ‘I want it to be understood that I use the term metaphysic in a different way than is commonly accepted: and similarly, I’m sure it will be clear to discerning individuals that in this and other matters, wherever my ideas and views differ from the traditional ones, I strive to maintain the ancient terminology. My goal is to avoid misunderstanding through the clear and structured presentation of what I propose; I am also eager to stick as closely as possible to the ancient views, both in language and opinions, as long as it aligns with truth and the advancement of knowledge. . . To me, as someone who wishes, as much as I can, to establish a constructive dialogue between ancient wisdom and modern understanding, it seems best to adhere to antiquity usque ad aras; therefore, I keep the ancient terms, even if I occasionally modify their uses and definitions, similar to the careful changes in civil administrations, where, despite some modifications, the principle holds true as Tacitus wisely notes, eadem magistratuum vocabula.’
We have had before us a sufficient number of examples of scientific terms thus framed; for they formed the first of three classes which we described in the First Aphorism. And we may again remark, that science, when she thus adopts terms which are in common use, always limits and fixes their meaning in a technical manner. We may also repeat here the warning already given respecting terms of this kind, that they are peculiarly liable to mislead readers who 279 do not take care to understand them in their technical instead of their common signification. Force, momentum, inertia, impetus, vis viva, are terms which are very useful, if we rigorously bear in mind the import which belongs to each of them in the best treatises on Mechanics; but if the reader content himself with conjecturing their meaning from the context, his knowledge will be confused and worthless.
We have seen enough examples of scientific terms created this way; they were the first of three categories we discussed in the First Aphorism. We should also point out again that science, when it adopts commonly used terms, always restricts and specifies their meaning in a technical way. Additionally, we want to remind you about the previous warning regarding these kinds of terms: they can easily mislead readers who do not take the time to understand them in their technical context rather than their everyday meaning. Terms like force, momentum, inertia, impetus, and vis viva are very useful if we strictly keep in mind the meaning associated with each of them in the best mechanics textbooks; however, if a reader only tries to guess their meaning from the surrounding text, their understanding will be muddled and ineffective.
In the application of this Third Aphorism, other rules are to be attended to, which I add.
In applying this Third Aphorism, there are other rules to consider, which I will add.
Aphorism IV.
Aphorism 4.
When common words are appropriated as technical terms, their meaning and relations in common use should be retained as far as can conveniently be done.
When everyday words are taken on as technical terms, we should keep their meanings and relationships from everyday use as much as possible.
I will state an example in which this rule seems to be applicable. Mr Davies Gilbert18 has recently proposed the term efficiency to designate the work which a machine, according to the force exerted upon it, is capable of doing; the work being measured by the weight raised, and the space through which it is raised, jointly. The usual term employed among engineers for the work which a machine actually does, measured in the way just stated, is duty. But as there appears to be a little incongruity in calling that work efficiency which the machine ought to do, when we call that work duty which it really does, I have proposed to term these two quantities theoretical efficiency and practical efficiency, or theoretical duty and practical duty19.
I will provide an example where this rule seems to fit. Mr. Davies Gilbert18 has recently suggested using the term efficiency to refer to the amount of work a machine can perform based on the force applied to it; this work is measured by the weight lifted and the distance it is lifted, together. The standard term used by engineers for the work a machine actually does, measured in this way, is duty. However, since it seems a bit inconsistent to call the work a machine ought to do efficiency, while referring to the work it actually does as duty, I propose naming these two concepts theoretical efficiency and practical efficiency, or theoretical duty and practical duty19.
Since common words are often vague in their meaning, I add as a necessary accompaniment to the Third Aphorism the following:— 280
Since common words are often unclear in their meaning, I add the following as an essential complement to the Third Aphorism:— 280
Aphorism V.
Aphorism 5.
When common words are appropriated as technical terms, their meaning may be modified, and must be rigorously fixed.
When everyday words are used as technical terms, their meanings can change and need to be clearly defined.
This is stated by Bacon in the above extract: ‘to retain the ancient terms, though I sometimes alter the uses and definitions.’ The scientific use of the term is in all cases much more precise than the common use. The loose notions of velocity and force for instance, which are sufficient for the usual purposes of language, require to be fixed by exact measures when these are made terms in the science of Mechanics.
This is stated by Bacon in the above extract: ‘to keep the old terms, though I sometimes change the uses and definitions.’ The scientific use of the term is always much more precise than the everyday use. The vague ideas of velocity and force, for example, which are enough for ordinary language, need to be defined with exact measurements when these are used as terms in the science of Mechanics.
This scientific fixation of the meaning of words is to be looked upon as a matter of convention, although it is in reality often an inevitable result of the progress of science. Momentum is conventionally defined to be the product of the numbers expressing the weight and the velocity; but then, it could be of no use in expressing the laws of motion if it were defined otherwise.
This scientific determination of the meaning of words should be seen as a matter of convention, even though it often stems from the advancement of science. Momentum is typically defined as the product of the values representing weight and velocity; however, it wouldn't be useful in explaining the laws of motion if it were defined differently.
Hence it is no valid objection to a scientific term that the word in common language does not mean exactly the same as in its common use. It is no sufficient reason against the use of the term acid for a class of bodies, that all the substances belonging to this class are not sour. We have seen that a trapezium is used in geometry for any four-sided figure, though originally it meant a figure with two opposite sides parallel and the two others equal. A certain stratum which lies below the chalk is termed by English geologists the green sand. It has sometimes been objected to this denomination that the stratum has very frequently no tinge of green, and that it is often composed of lime with little or no sand. Yet the term is a good technical term in spite of these apparent improprieties; so long as it is carefully applied to that stratum which is geologically equivalent to the greenish sandy bed to which the appellation was originally applied.
Therefore, it's not a valid criticism of a scientific term that its meaning in everyday language doesn't match perfectly with its common use. It doesn’t undermine the term acid being used for a category of substances just because not all of them taste sour. We’ve seen that in geometry, a trapezium refers to any four-sided shape, even though it originally described a figure with two parallel sides and two equal sides. A certain layer that lies beneath chalk is called the green sand by English geologists. Some have pointed out that this name is misleading because this layer often has no green tint and is typically made of lime with little or no sand. However, the term is still a valid technical term despite these apparent inconsistencies, as long as it’s used accurately to refer to that layer which is geologically equivalent to the greenish sandy layer it was originally named after.
When it appeared that geometry would have to be employed as much at least about the heavens as the earth, Plato exclaimed against the folly of calling the 281 science by such a name; since the word signifies ‘earth-measuring;’ yet the word geometry has retained its place and answered its purpose perfectly well up to the present day.
When it seemed that geometry would need to be used just as much for the heavens as for the earth, Plato complained about the foolishness of naming the science that way; since the word means ‘earth-measuring.’ Still, the term geometry has held its ground and served its purpose perfectly well to this day.
But though the meaning of the term may be modified or extended, it must be rigorously fixed when it is appropriated to science. This process is most abundantly exemplified by the terminology of Natural History, and especially of Botany, in which each term has a most precise meaning assigned to it. Thus Linnæus established exact distinctions between fasciculus, capitulum, racemus, thyrsus, paniculus, spica, amentum, corymbus, umbella, cyma, verticillus; or, in the language of English Botanists, a tuft, a head, a cluster, a bunch, a panicle, a spike, a catkin, a corymb, an umbel, a cyme, a whorl. And it has since been laid down as a rule20, that each organ ought to have a separate and appropriate name; so that the term leaf, for instance, shall never be applied to a leaflet, a bractea, or a sepal of the calyx.
But while the meaning of the term can be changed or broadened, it must be strictly defined when used in science. This is especially clear in the field of Natural History and particularly in Botany, where each term has a very specific meaning. For instance, Linnæus created clear distinctions between fasciculus, capitulum, racemus, thyrsus, paniculus, spica, amentum, corymbus, umbella, cyma, and verticillus; or as English Botanists say, a tuft, a head, a cluster, a bunch, a panicle, a spike, a catkin, a corymb, an umbel, a cyme, a whorl. It has since been established as a rule20, that each organ should have a distinct and appropriate name; so the term leaf, for example, should never be used to describe a leaflet, a bractea, or a sepal of the calyx.
Aphorism VI.
Aphorism 6.
When common words are appropriated as technical terms, this must be done so that they are not ambiguous in their application.
When everyday words are used as technical terms, they need to be clear and unambiguous in how they're applied.
An example will explain this maxim. The conditions of a body, as a solid, a liquid, and an air, have been distinguished as different forms of the body. But the word form, as applied to bodies, has other meanings; so that if we were to inquire in what form water exists in a snow-cloud, it might be doubted whether the forms of crystallization were meant, or 282 the different forms of ice, water, and vapour. Hence I have proposed23 to reject the term form in such cases, and to speak of the different consistence of a body in these conditions. The term consistence is usually applied to conditions between solid and fluid; and may without effort be extended to those limiting conditions. And though it may appear more harsh to extend the term consistence to the state of air, it may be justified by what has been said in speaking of Aphorism V.
A clear example will illustrate this principle. The states of a substance—solid, liquid, and gas—are recognized as different forms of that substance. However, the term form, when applied to substances, has various meanings. So if we were to ask in what form water exists in a snow-cloud, it might be unclear whether we were referring to the different crystalline structures or to the distinct states of ice, water, and vapor. Therefore, I suggest23to discard the term form in these contexts, and instead refer to the different consistence of a substance in these states. The term consistence is generally used to describe states between solid and liquid and can easily be applied to those boundary conditions. Although it might seem somewhat awkward to apply the term consistence to the state of gas, this can be supported by the explanation provided in the discussion of Aphorism V.
I may notice another example of the necessity of avoiding ambiguous words. A philosopher who makes method his study, would naturally be termed a methodist; but unluckily this word is already appropriated to a religious sect: and hence we could hardly venture to speak of Cæsalpinus, Ray, Morison, Rivinus, Tournefort, Linnæus, and their successors, as botanical methodists. Again, by this maxim, we are almost debarred from using the term physician for a cultivator of the science of physics, because it already signifies a practiser of physic. We might, perhaps, still use physician as the equivalent of the French physicien, in virtue of Aphorism V.; but probably it would be better to form a new word. Thus we may say, that while the Naturalist employs principally the ideas of resemblance and life, the Physicist proceeds upon the ideas of force, matter, and the properties of matter.
I can see another example of why it’s important to avoid ambiguous words. A philosopher who studies methods would naturally be called a methodist; however, this term is already taken by a religious group, so we could hardly call Cæsalpinus, Ray, Morison, Rivinus, Tournefort, Linnæus, and their followers botanical methodists. Similarly, this principle makes it difficult to use the term physician for someone who studies physics since it already refers to someone who practices medicine. We might still use physician like the French physicien, based on Aphorism V.; but it might be better to create a new word. Thus, we can say that while the Naturalist mainly uses the concepts of resemblance and life, the Physicist focuses on the concepts of force, matter, and the properties of matter.
Whatever may be thought of this proposal, the maxim which it implies is frequently useful. It is this.
Whatever people think about this proposal, the principle behind it is often helpful. It is this.
Aphorism VII.
Aphorism 7.
It is better to form new words as technical terms, than to employ old ones in which the last three Aphorisms cannot be complied with.
It's better to create new words as technical terms than to use old ones that don't align with the last three Aphorisms.
The principal inconvenience attending the employment of new words constructed expressly for the use of science, is the difficulty of effectually introducing them. Readers will not readily take the trouble to learn the meaning of a word, in which the memory is 283 not assisted by some obvious suggestion connected with the common use of language. When this difficulty is overcome, the new word is better than one merely appropriated; since it is more secure from vagueness and confusion. And in cases where the inconveniences belonging to a scientific use of common words become great and inevitable, a new word must be framed and introduced.
The main drawback of using new words specifically made for science is the challenge of getting people to adopt them. Readers often won’t bother to learn a word that doesn’t have an obvious connection to familiar language. Once this obstacle is cleared, the new word is preferable to one that’s simply borrowed; it’s less likely to be vague or confusing. And when the issues with using common words in a scientific context become significant and unavoidable, a new word needs to be created and introduced.
The Maxims which belong to the construction of such words will be stated hereafter; but I may notice an instance or two tending to show the necessity of the Maxim now before us.
The guidelines for constructing such words will be explained later; however, I can point out a couple of examples that illustrate the need for the guideline we are discussing now.
The word Force has been appropriated in the science of Mechanics in two senses: as indicating the cause of motion; and again, as expressing certain measures of the effects of this cause, in the phrases accelerating force and moving force. Hence we might have occasion to speak of the accelerating or moving force of a certain force; for instance, if we were to say that the force which governs the motions of the planets resides in the sun; and that the accelerating force of this force varies only with the distance, but its moving force varies as the product of the mass of the sun and the planet. This is a harsh and incongruous mode of expression; and might have been avoided, if, instead of accelerating force and moving force, single abstract terms had been introduced by Newton: if, for instance, he had said that the velocity generated in a second measures the accelerativity of the force which produces it, and the momentum produced in a second measures the motivity of the force.
The term Force has been taken on in Mechanics in two ways: first, to refer to the cause of motion; and second, to express specific measures of the effects of that cause, like accelerating force and moving force. Therefore, we might need to discuss the accelerating or moving force of a particular force; for example, if we say that the force that controls the movements of the planets comes from the sun, and that the accelerating force of this force only changes with distance, while its moving force changes as the product of the sun's mass and the planet's mass. This way of expressing things is awkward and doesn't fit well; it could have been avoided if Newton had introduced single abstract terms instead of accelerating force and moving force: for instance, if he had said that the velocity generated in a second measures the accelerativity of the force that produces it, and the momentum created in a second measures the motivity of the force.
The science which treats of heat has hitherto had no special designation: treatises upon it have generally been termed treatises On Heat. But this practice of employing the same term to denote the property and the science which treats of it, is awkward, and often ambiguous. And it is further attended with this inconvenience, that we have no adjective derived from the name of the science, as we have in other cases, when we speak of acoustical experiments and optical theories. This inconvenience has led various persons to suggest names for the Science of Heat. M. Comte 284 terms it Thermology. In the History of the Sciences, I have named it Thermotics, which appears to me to agree better with the analogy of the names of other corresponding sciences, Acoustics and Optics. Electricity is in the same condition as Heat; having only one word to express the property and the science. M. Le Comte proposes Electrology: for the same reason as before, I should conceive Electrics more agreeable to analogy. The coincidence of the word with the plural of Electric would not give rise to ambiguity; for Electrics, taken as the name of a science, would be singular, like Optics and Mechanics. But a term offers itself to express common or machine Electrics, which appears worthy of admission, though involving a theoretical view. The received doctrine of the difference between Voltaic and Common Electricity is, that in the former case the fluid must be considered as in motion, in the latter as at rest. The science which treats of the former class of subjects is commonly termed Electrodynamics, which obviously suggests the name Electrostatics for the latter.
The science that deals with heat has never had a specific name; writings on it have usually been called treatises On Heat. However, using the same term to refer to both the property and the science can be confusing and often leads to ambiguity. Additionally, we lack an adjective derived from the name of the science, unlike in other cases, where we talk about acoustical experiments and optical theories. This gap has prompted various people to suggest names for the Science of Heat. M. Comte calls it Thermology. In the History of the Sciences, I referred to it as Thermotics, which seems to align better with the naming conventions of other related sciences, like Acoustics and Optics. Electricity shares a similar situation with Heat, having only one word to describe both the property and the science. M. Le Comte suggests Electrology; however, I think Electrics fits the analogy better. The overlap of the term with the plural of Electric wouldn’t cause confusion, since Electrics, used as a scientific term, would be singular, like Optics and Mechanics. Yet, there is a term to describe common or machine Electrics, which seems worth considering, though it does imply a theoretical perspective. The accepted understanding of the difference between Voltaic and Common Electricity is that, in the former, the fluid is thought to be in motion, while in the latter, it is considered at rest. The science that addresses the first category is generally called Electrodynamics, which clearly leads to the name Electrostatics for the second.
The subject of the Tides is, in like manner, destitute of any name which designates the science concerned about it. I have ventured to employ the term Tidology, having been much engaged in tidological researches.
The topic of Tides also lacks a proper name for the science related to it. I've taken the liberty to use the term Tidology, as I've been heavily involved in tidological studies.
Many persons possess a peculiarity of vision, which disables them from distinguishing certain colours. On examining many such cases, we find that in all such persons the peculiarities are the same; all of them confounding scarlet with green, and pink with blue. Hence they form a class, which, for the convenience of physiologists and others, ought to have a fixed designation. Instead of calling them, as has usually been done, ‘persons having a peculiarity of vision,’ we might take a Greek term implying this meaning, and term them Idiopts.
Many people have a unique vision issue that prevents them from distinguishing certain colors. When we look into many of these cases, we find that all these individuals share the same peculiarities; they confuse scarlet with green and pink with blue. This creates a group that should have a specific name for the ease of physiologists and others. Instead of referring to them, as is commonly done, as ‘people with a vision issue,’ we could use a Greek term that conveys this meaning and call them Idiopts.
But my business at present is not to speak of the selection of new terms when they are introduced, but to illustrate the maxim that the necessity for their introduction often arises. The construction of new terms will be treated of subsequently. 285
But right now, I’m not here to talk about choosing new terms when they come up, but to show that there's often a need for them to be introduced. The creation of new terms will be discussed later. 285
Aphorism VIII.
Aphorism VIII.
Terms must be constructed and appropriated so as to be fitted to enunciate simply and clearly true general propositions.
Terms need to be created and used in a way that clearly and simply expresses true general statements.
This Aphorism may be considered as the fundamental principle and supreme rule of all scientific terminology. It is asserted by Cuvier, speaking of a particular case. Thus he says24 of Gmelin, that by placing the lamantin in the genus of morses, and the siren in the genus of eels, he had rendered every general proposition respecting the organization of those genera impossible.
This aphorism can be seen as the core principle and ultimate rule of all scientific terminology. Cuvier states this when discussing a specific case. He mentions—A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0—that by putting the lamantin in the walrus genus and the siren in the eel genus, he made it impossible to make any general statements about the organization of those genera.
The maxim is true of words appropriated as well as invented, and applies equally to the mathematical, chemical, and classificatory sciences. With regard to most of these, and especially the two former classes, it has been abundantly exemplified already, in what has previously been said, and in the History of the Sciences. For we have there had to notice many technical terms, with the occasions of their introduction; and all these occasions have involved the intention of expressing in a convenient manner some truth or supposed truth. The terms of Astronomy were adopted for the purpose of stating and reasoning upon the relations of the celestial motions, according to the doctrine of the sphere, and the other laws which were discovered by astronomers. The few technical terms which belong to Mechanics, force, velocity, momentum, inertia, &c., were employed from the first with a view to the expression of the laws of motion and of rest; and were, in the end, limited so as truly and simply to express those laws when they were fully ascertained. In Chemistry, the term phlogiston was useful, as has been shown in the History, in classing together processes which really are of the same nature; and the nomenclature of the oxygen theory was still preferable, because it enabled the chemist to express a still greater number of general truths. 286
The saying applies to both words that are borrowed and those that are created, and it holds true for fields like mathematics, chemistry, and classification sciences. Most of these, especially the first two categories, have already been thoroughly illustrated in what we've discussed and in the History of the Sciences. We have noted many technical terms there, along with the contexts of their introduction; all of these contexts aimed to convey some truth or assumed truth in a practical way. Terms in Astronomy were adopted to describe and analyze the relationships of celestial motions based on the theory of spheres and other laws discovered by astronomers. The few technical terms found in Mechanics, such as force, velocity, momentum, inertia, etc., were originally used to express the laws of motion and rest; they were eventually refined to accurately represent those laws once they were fully understood. In Chemistry, the term phlogiston served its purpose, as discussed in the History, by grouping together processes that are fundamentally similar; however, the terminology from the oxygen theory was even better because it allowed chemists to articulate an even broader range of general truths. 286
To the connexion here asserted, of theory and nomenclature, we have the testimony of the author of the oxygen theory. In the Preface to his Chemistry, Lavoisier says:—‘Thus while I thought myself employed only in forming a Nomenclature, and while I proposed to myself nothing more than to improve the chemical language, my work transformed itself by degrees, without my being able to prevent it, into a Treatise on the Elements of Chemistry.’ And he then proceeds to show how this happened.
To the connection being made here between theory and terminology, we have the testimony of the author of the oxygen theory. In the Preface to his Chemistry, Lavoisier says:—‘So while I thought I was just creating a Nomenclature, and I aimed for nothing more than to enhance the chemical language, my work gradually turned into a Treatise on the Elements of Chemistry without me being able to stop it.’ He then goes on to explain how this occurred.
It is, however, mainly through the progress of Natural History in modern times, that philosophers have been led to see the importance and necessity of new terms in expressing new truths. Thus Harvey, in the Preface to his work on Generation, says:—‘Be not offended if in setting out the History of the Egg I make use of a new method, and sometimes of unusual terms. For as they which find out a new plantation and new shores call them by names of their own coining, which posterity afterwards accepts and receives, so those that find out new secrets have good title to their compellation. And here, methinks, I hear Galen advising: If we consent in the things, contend not about the words.’
It is primarily through the advancements in Natural History in modern times that philosophers have come to recognize the importance and necessity of new terms to express new truths. For example, Harvey, in the Preface to his work on Generation, states:—‘Don’t be upset if, as I discuss the History of the Egg, I use a new method and sometimes unusual terms. Just as those who discover new lands and shores name them with their own terms, which future generations accept and adopt, those who uncover new secrets have every right to their naming. And here, I believe, I hear Galen advising: If we agree on the matters, don’t argue about the words.’
The Nomenclature which answers the purposes of Natural History is a Systematic Nomenclature, and will be further considered under the next Aphorism. But we may remark, that the Aphorism now before us governs the use of words, not in science only, but in common language also. Are we to apply the name fish to animals of the whale kind? The answer is determined by our present rule: we are to do so, or not, accordingly as we can best express true propositions. If we are speaking of the internal structure and physiology of the animal, we must not call them fish; for in these respects they deviate widely from fishes: they have warm blood, and produce and suckle their young as land quadrupeds do. But this would not prevent our speaking of the whale-fishery, and calling such animals fish on all occasions connected with this employment; for the relations thus arising depend upon the animal’s living in the water, and being caught in a 287 manner similar to other fishes. A plea that human laws which mention fish do not apply to whales, would be rejected at once by an intelligent judge.
The naming system that serves the purposes of Natural History is a systematic one, and we'll discuss it further in the next aphorism. However, it's worth noting that the aphorism we're currently examining governs the use of words not just in science, but in everyday language as well. Should we refer to whale-like animals as fish? The answer follows our current guideline: we should do so or not based on how we can best express true statements. If we're talking about the internal structure and biology of the animal, we shouldn't call them fish; in these respects, they differ significantly from fish: they have warm blood and give birth to and nurse their young like land mammals do. However, this doesn’t stop us from discussing the whale-fishery and calling these animals fish whenever it relates to this activity; because the connections in that case are based on the animal living in water and being caught in a similar way to other fish. An argument claiming that human laws which mention fish don't apply to whales would be dismissed immediately by a knowledgeable judge.
[A bituminiferous deposit which occurs amongst the coal measures in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh was used as coal, and called ‘Boghead Cannel Coal.’ But a lawsuit arose upon the question whether this, which geologically was not the coal, should be regarded in law as coal. The opinions of chemists and geologists, as well as of lawyers, were discrepant, and a direct decision of the case was evaded.25]
[A bituminous deposit found among the coal layers near Edinburgh was used as coal and referred to as ‘Boghead Cannel Coal.’ However, a lawsuit emerged over whether this, which was not considered the coal geologically, should be classified as coal in legal terms. The views of chemists and geologists, as well as lawyers, varied widely, and a direct ruling on the case was avoided.25]
Aphorism IX.
Aphorism IX.
In the Classificatory Sciences, a Systematic Nomenclature is necessary; and the System and the Nomenclature are each essential to the utility of the other.
In the Classificatory Sciences, a systematic naming system is essential; both the system and the naming are vital for the effectiveness of each other.
The inconveniences arising from the want of a good Nomenclature were long felt in Botany, and are still felt in Mineralogy. The attempts to remedy them by Synonymies are very ineffective, for such comparisons of synonyms do not supply a systematic nomenclature; and such a one alone can enable us to state general truths respecting the objects of which the classificatory sciences treat. The System and the Names ought to be introduced together; for the former is a collection of asserted analogies and resemblances, for which the latter provide simple and permanent expressions. Hence it has repeatedly occurred in the progress of Natural History, that good Systems did not take root, or produce any lasting effect among naturalists, because they were not accompanied by a corresponding Nomenclature. In this way, as we have already noticed, the excellent botanical System of Cæsalpinus was without immediate effect upon the science. The work of Willoughby, as Cuvier says26, forms an epoch, and 288 a happy epoch in Ichthyology; yet because Willoughby had no Nomenclature of his own, and no fixed names for his genera, his immediate influence was not great. Again, in speaking of Schlotheim’s work containing representations of fossil vegetables, M. Adolphe Brongniart observes27 that the figures and descriptions are so good, that if the author had established a nomenclature for the objects he describes, his work would have become the basis of all succeeding labours on the subject.
The challenges from not having a good naming system have been felt in Botany for a long time and are still an issue in Mineralogy. Attempts to fix this with Synonymies haven't been very useful because comparing synonyms doesn't create a systematic naming system; only such a system can allow us to express general truths about the subjects in classificatory sciences. The System and the Names should be introduced together, as the former consists of asserted analogies and similarities, while the latter offers simple and lasting terms. This has led to situations in the history of Natural History where effective Systems didn’t have a lasting impact on naturalists because they lacked a corresponding naming system. As we mentioned before, Cæsalpinus’s excellent botanical System didn’t have an immediate impact on the science. Willoughby's work, as Cuvier describes26, marks an important moment in Ichthyology; however, since Willoughby didn’t have his own naming system or fixed names for his genera, his immediate influence was limited. Additionally, when discussing Schlotheim’s work that showcases fossil plants, M. Adolphe Brongniart notes27that the illustrations and descriptions are so well done that if the author had created a naming system for the objects he described, his work would have become the foundation for all future studies on the topic.
As additional examples of cases in which the improvement of classification, in recent times, has led philosophers to propose new names, I may mention the term Pœcilite, proposed by Mr. Conybeare to designate the group of strata which lies below the oolites and lias, including the new red or variegated sandstone, with the keuper above, and the magnesian limestone below it. Again, the transition districts of our island have recently been reduced to system by Professor Sedgwick and Mr. Murchison; and this step has been marked by the terms Cambrian system, and Silurian system, applied to the two great groups of formations which they have respectively examined, and by several other names of the subordinate members of these formations.
As further examples of how recent improvements in classification have led philosophers to suggest new names, I can mention the term Pœcilite, introduced by Mr. Conybeare to identify the group of layers found beneath the oolites and lias, which includes the new red or variegated sandstone, along with the keuper above and the magnesian limestone below it. Additionally, the transitional areas of our island have recently been systematically categorized by Professor Sedgwick and Mr. Murchison; this effort has given rise to the terms Cambrian system and Silurian system, which refer to the two major groups of formations they have studied, along with several other names for the subordinate members of these formations.
Thus System and Nomenclature are each essential to the other. Without Nomenclature, the system is not permanently incorporated into the general body of knowledge, and made an instrument of future progress. Without System, the names cannot express general truths, and contain no reason why they should be employed in preference to any other names.
Thus, System and Nomenclature are both crucial to each other. Without Nomenclature, the system isn't permanently integrated into the general body of knowledge and doesn't become a tool for future progress. Without System, the names can’t convey general truths, and there's no justification for using them over any other names.
This has been generally acknowledged by the most philosophical naturalists of modern times. Thus Linnæus begins that part of his Botanical Philosophy in which names are treated of, by stating that the foundation of botany is twofold, Disposition and Denomination; and he adds this Latin line,
This is widely recognized by the leading philosophical naturalists of today. For example, Linnæus starts the section of his Botanical Philosophy that discusses names by saying that the foundation of botany is twofold: Disposition and Denomination; and he includes this Latin line,
Nomina si nescis perit et cognitio rerum. 289
If you don't know the names, understanding things is lost. 289
And Cuvier, in the Preface to his Animal Kingdom, explains, in a very striking manner, how the attempt to connect zoology with anatomy led him, at the same time, to reform the classifications, and to correct the nomenclature of preceding zoologists.
And Cuvier, in the Preface to his Animal Kingdom, explains, in a very striking way, how his effort to link zoology with anatomy also drove him to update the classifications and fix the terminology used by earlier zoologists.
I have stated that in Mineralogy we are still destitute of a good nomenclature generally current. From what has now been said, it will be seen that it may be very far from easy to supply this defect, since we have, as yet, no generally received system of mineralogical classification. Till we know what are really different species of minerals, and in what larger groups these species can be arranged, so as to have common properties, we shall never obtain a permanent mineralogical nomenclature. Thus Leucocyclite and Tesselite are minerals previously confounded with Apophyllite, which Sir John Herschel and Sir David Brewster distinguished by those names, in consequence of certain optical properties which they exhibit. But are these properties definite distinctions? and are there any external differences corresponding to them? If not, can we consider them as separate species? and if not separate species, ought they to have separate names? In like manner, we might ask if Augite and Hornblende are really the same species, as Gustavus Rose has maintained? if Diallage and Hypersthene are not definitely distinguished, which has been asserted by Kobell? Till such questions are settled, we cannot have a fixed nomenclature in mineralogy. What appears the best course to follow in the present state of the science, I shall consider when we come to speak of the form of technical terms.
I have mentioned that in Mineralogy, we still lack a widely accepted naming system. From what I've said, it’s clear that fixing this issue isn’t straightforward, since we currently don’t have a commonly accepted way to classify minerals. Until we determine what the distinct types of minerals really are and how these types can be grouped by shared properties, we won’t be able to establish a lasting naming system for minerals. For example, Leucocyclite and Tesselite were previously confused with Apophyllite, but Sir John Herschel and Sir David Brewster identified them by those names due to certain optical properties they show. However, are these properties clear distinctions? And are there any physical differences that match them? If not, can we view them as separate species? And if they aren't separate species, should they have different names? Similarly, we could question whether Augite and Hornblende are really the same species, as Gustavus Rose has claimed, or if Diallage and Hypersthene are not clearly differentiated, as Kobell has stated. Until these questions are answered, we can’t establish a consistent naming system in mineralogy. I will outline what seems to be the best approach given the current state of science when we discuss the structure of technical terms.
I may, however, notice here that the main Forms of systematic nomenclature are two:—terms which are produced by combining words of higher and lower generality, as the binary names, consisting of the name of the genus and the species, generally employed by natural historians since the time of Linnæus;—and terms in which some relation of things is indicated by a change in the form of the word, for example, an alteration of its termination, of which kind of 290 nomenclature we have a conspicuous example in the modern chemistry.
I should point out that there are two main types of systematic naming: terms formed by combining words of broader and narrower categories, like the binary names made up of the genus and species, which natural historians have used since Linnæus; and terms that show a relationship between things through changes in the word's form, such as alterations to its ending. A clear example of this type of naming can be seen in modern chemistry.
Aphorism X.
Aphorism X.
New terms and changes of terms, which are not needed in order to express truth, are to be avoided.
New terms and changes to terms that aren't necessary to convey the truth should be avoided.
As the Seventh Aphorism asserted that novelties in language may be and ought to be introduced, when they aid the enunciation of truths, we now declare that they are not admissible in any other case. New terms and new systems of terms are not to be introduced, for example, in virtue of their own neatness or symmetry, or other merits, if there is no occasion for their use.
As the Seventh Aphorism stated that new expressions in language can and should be introduced when they help express truths, we now declare that they are not acceptable in any other situation. New words and new systems of terms shouldn't be introduced, for instance, just because they are aesthetically pleasing or symmetrical, or for any other reasons, if there's no need for them.
I may mention, as an old example of a superfluous attempt of this kind, an occurrence in the history of Astronomy. In 1628 John Bayer and Julius Schiller devised a Cœlum Christianum, in which the common names of the planets, &c., were replaced by those of Adam, Moses, and the Patriarchs. The twelve Signs became the twelve Apostles, and the constellations became sacred places and things. Peireskius, who had to pronounce upon the value of this proposal, praised the piety of the inventors, but did not approve, he said28, the design of perverting and confounding whatever of celestial information from the period of the earliest memory is found in books.
I can share an old example of a pointless attempt like this, from the history of Astronomy. In 1628, John Bayer and Julius Schiller created a Cœlum Christianum, where the usual names of the planets, etc., were swapped out for names of Adam, Moses, and the Patriarchs. The twelve Signs turned into the twelve Apostles, and the constellations were renamed after sacred places and things. Peireskius, who had to evaluate this proposal, praised the inventors' piety but did not agree, saying28, the idea of distorting and mixing up any celestial knowledge from ancient times found in books.
Nor are slight anomalies in the existing language of science sufficient ground for a change, if they do not seriously interfere with the expression of our knowledge. Thus Linnæus says29 that a fair generic name is not to be exchanged for another though apter one: and30 if we separate an old genus into several, we must try to find names for them among the synonyms which describe the old genus. This maxim excludes the restoration of ancient names long disused, no less than the needless invention of new ones. Linnæus 291 lays down this rule31; and adds, that the botanists of the sixteenth century well nigh ruined botany by their anxiety to recover the ancient names of plants. In like manner Cuvier32 laments it as a misfortune, that he has had to introduce many new names; and declares earnestly that he has taken great pains to preserve those of his predecessors.
Nor are minor inconsistencies in the current language of science enough reason to make a change, as long as they don't significantly impact how we communicate our knowledge. As Linnæus states29, a good generic name shouldn't be replaced with another that might be better: and30 if we divide an old genus into several parts, we need to try to find names for them among the synonyms that describe the old genus. This principle rules out restoring long-unused ancient names, as well as the unnecessary creation of new ones. Linnæus 291 establishes this guideline31; and adds that the botanists of the sixteenth century nearly destroyed botany with their eagerness to recover the ancient names of plants. Similarly, Cuvier32 expresses regret that he has had to introduce many new names and earnestly states that he has made considerable efforts to keep the names of his predecessors.
The great bulk which the Synonymy of botany and of mineralogy have attained, shows us that this maxim has not been universally attended to. In these cases, however, the multiplication of different names for the same kind of object has arisen in general from ignorance of the identity of it under different circumstances, or from the want of a system which might assign to it its proper place. But there are other instances, in which the multiplication of names has arisen not from defect, but from excess, of the spirit of system. The love which speculative men bear towards symmetry and completeness is constantly at work, to make them create systems of classification more regular and more perfect than can be verified by the facts: and as good systems are closely connected with a good nomenclature, systems thus erroneous and superfluous lead to a nomenclature which is prejudicial to science. For although such a nomenclature is finally expelled, when it is found not to aid us in expressing the true laws of nature, it may obtain some temporary sway, during which, and even afterwards, it may be a source of much confusion.
The extensive length of the Synonymy in botany and mineralogy shows that this principle hasn't been consistently followed. In these situations, the overwhelming number of different names for the same object has generally come from a lack of understanding of its identity in different contexts or from the absence of a system to place it correctly. However, there are other cases where the proliferation of names has come not from a lack, but from an excess of systematization. The enthusiasm that theorists have for symmetry and completeness constantly leads them to create classification systems that are more structured and perfect than what can be supported by the actual facts. Since good systems are closely tied to good naming conventions, these incorrect and unnecessary systems result in a nomenclature that is harmful to science. Although such naming conventions are eventually discarded when they fail to help us express the true laws of nature, they can hold temporary influence, during which time, and even afterward, they may cause significant confusion.
We have a conspicuous example of such a result in the geological nomenclature of Werner and his school. Thus it was assumed, in Werner’s system, that his First, Second, and Third Flötz Limestone, his Old and New Red Sandstone, were universal formations; and geologists looked upon it as their business to detect these strata in other countries. Names were thus assigned to the rocks of various parts of Europe, which created immense perplexity before they were again ejected. The geological terms which now prevail, for 292 instance, those of Smith, are for the most part not systematic, but are borrowed from accidents, as localities, or popular names; as Oxford Clay and Cornbrash; and hence they are not liable to be thrust out on a change of system. On the other hand we do not find sufficient reason to accept the system of names of strata proposed by Mr. Conybeare in the Introduction to the Geology of England and Wales, according to which the Carboniferous Rocks are the Medial Order,—having above them the Supermedial Order (New Red Sand, Oolites and Chalk), and above these the Superior Order (Tertiary Rocks); and again,—having below, the Submedial Order (the Transition Rocks), and the Inferior Order (Mica Slate, Gneiss, Granite). For though these names have long been proposed, it does not appear that they are useful in enunciating geological truths. We may, it would seem, pronounce the same judgment respecting the system of geological names proposed by M. Alexander Brongniart, in his Tableau des Terrains qui composent l’écorce du Globe. He divides these strata into nine classes, which he terms Terrains Alluviens, Lysiens, Pyrogenes, Clysmiens, Yzemiens, Hemilysiens, Agalysiens, Plutoniques, Vulcaniques. These classes are again variously subdivided: thus the Terrains Yzemiens are Thalassiques, Pelagiques, and Abyssiques; and the Abyssiques are subdivided into Lias, Keuper, Conchiliens, Pœciliens, Peneens, Rudimentaires, Entritiques, Houillers, Carbonifers and Gres Rouge Ancien. Scarcely any amount of new truths would induce geologists to burthen themselves at once with this enormous system of new names: but in fact, it is evident that any portion of truth, which any author can have brought to light, may be conveyed by means of a much simpler apparatus. Such a nomenclature carries its condemnation on its own face.
We have a clear example of this in the geological naming conventions of Werner and his followers. In Werner's system, it was assumed that his **First**, **Second**, and **Third Flötz Limestone**, as well as his **Old** and **New Red Sandstone**, were universal formations. Geologists believed it was their job to identify these layers in other countries. This led to names being assigned to rocks in various parts of Europe, resulting in significant confusion before they were eventually discarded. The geological terms commonly used today, for example, those of Smith, are mostly not systematic but rather taken from local or popular names, like **Oxford Clay** and **Cornbrash**; therefore, they are less likely to be rejected with changes in system. On the other hand, we don't find enough reason to accept the naming system for strata proposed by Mr. Conybeare in the **Introduction to the Geology of England and Wales**, where the **Carboniferous Rocks** are categorized as the **Medial Order**, with the **Supermedial Order** (including **New Red Sand**, **Oolites**, and **Chalk**) above, and the **Superior Order** (**Tertiary Rocks**) above that. Below are the **Submedial Order** (the **Transition Rocks**) and the **Inferior Order** (**Mica Slate**, **Gneiss**, **Granite**). Although these names have been around for a long time, they don’t seem to help in expressing geological truths. We can likewise apply the same judgment to the naming system proposed by M. Alexander Brongniart in his **Tableau des Terrains qui composent l’écorce du Globe**. He divides these layers into nine classes, which he calls **Terrains Alluviens**, **Lysiens**, **Pyrogenes**, **Clysmiens**, **Yzemiens**, **Hemilysiens**, **Agalysiens**, **Plutoniques**, and **Vulcaniques**. These classes are further subdivided: for example, the Yzemiens are split into **Thalassiques**, **Pelagiques**, and **Abyssiques**; and the Abyssiques are subdivided into **Lias**, **Keuper**, **Conchiliens**, **Pœciliens**, **Peneens**, **Rudimentaires**, **Entritiques**, **Houillers**, **Carbonifers**, and **Gres Rouge Ancien**. No amount of new truths would convince geologists to take on this overwhelming system of new names all at once; in reality, it’s clear that any piece of truth an author uncovers could be expressed with a much simpler naming system. Such a nomenclature proves its own inadequacy.
Nearly the same may be said of the systematic nomenclature proposed for mineralogy by Professor Mohs. Even if all his Genera be really natural groups, (a doctrine which we can have no confidence in till they are confirmed by the evidence of chemistry,) there is no 293 necessity to make so great a change in the received names of minerals. His proceeding in this respect, so different from the temperance of Linnæus and Cuvier, has probably ensured a speedy oblivion to this part of his system. In crystallography, on the other hand, in which Mohs’s improvements have been very valuable, there are several terms introduced by him, as rhombohedron, scalenohedron, hemihedral, systems of crystallization, which will probably be a permanent portion of the language of science.
Almost the same can be said for the systematic naming system for mineralogy proposed by Professor Mohs. Even if all of his genera are truly natural groups (a concept we can't trust until supported by chemistry), there's no need to make such significant changes to the established names of minerals. His approach in this regard, which is so unlike the careful methods of Linnæus and Cuvier, has likely caused this part of his system to be quickly forgotten. In contrast, in crystallography, where Mohs's improvements have been very valuable, there are several terms he introduced, like rhombohedron, scalenohedron, hemihedral, and systems of crystallization, which will probably remain a lasting part of scientific language.
I may remark, in general, that the only persons who succeed in making great alterations in the language of science, are not those who make names arbitrarily and as an exercise of ingenuity, but those who have much new knowledge to communicate; so that the vehicle is commended to general reception by the value of what it contains. It is only eminent discoverers to whom the authority is conceded of introducing a new system of names; just as it is only the highest authority in the state which has the power of putting a new coinage in circulation.
I can generally say that the only people who manage to make significant changes to the language of science are not those who create names randomly or just for the sake of being clever, but those who have a lot of new knowledge to share. The usefulness of their contributions makes the language more accepted. Only recognized innovators have the authority to introduce a new naming system, just like only the highest authority in the government can issue new currency.
I will here quote some judicious remarks of Mr. Howard, which fall partly under this Aphorism, and partly under some which follow. He had proposed, as names for the kinds of clouds, the following: Cirrus, Cirrocumulus, Cirrostratus, Cumulostratus, Cumulus, Nimbus, Stratus. In an abridgment of his views, given in the Supplement to the Encyclopædia Britannica, English names were proposed as the equivalents of these; Curlcloud, Sondercloud, Wanecloud, Twaincloud, Stackencloud, Raincloud, Fallcloud. Upon these Mr. Howard observes: ‘I mention these, in order to have the opportunity of saying that I do not adopt them. The names for the clouds which I deduced from the Latin, are but seven in number, and very easy to remember. They were intended as arbitrary terms for the structure of clouds, and the meaning of them was carefully fixed by a definition. The observer having once made himself master of this, was able to apply the term with correctness, after a little experience, to the subject under all its varieties of form, colour, or position. The 294 new names, if meant to be another set of arbitrary terms, are superfluous; if intended to convey in themselves an explanation in English, they fail in this, by applying to some part or circumstance only of the definition; the whole of which must be kept in view to study the subject with success. To take for an example the first of the modifications. The term cirrus very readily takes an abstract meaning, equally applicable to the rectilinear as to the flexuous forms of the subject. But the name of curl-cloud will not, without some violence to its obvious sense, acquire this more extensive one: and will therefore be apt to mislead the reader rather than further his progress. Others of these names are as devoid of a meaning obvious to the English reader, as the Latin terms themselves. But the principal objection to English or any other local terms, remains to be stated. They take away from the nomenclature its general advantage of constituting, as far as it goes, an universal language, by means of which the intelligent of every country may convey to each other their ideas without the necessity of translation.’
I will quote some insightful comments from Mr. Howard that relate to this aphorism and some that follow. He suggested the following names for types of clouds: Cirrus, Cirrocumulus, Cirrostratus, Cumulostratus, Cumulus, Nimbus, Stratus. In a summary of his views found in the Supplement to the Encyclopædia Britannica, English names were suggested as equivalents: Curlcloud, Sondercloud, Wanecloud, Twaincloud, Stackencloud, Raincloud, Fallcloud. Mr. Howard comments: ‘I mention these to explain that I don’t accept them. The names for clouds that I derived from Latin are only seven and very easy to remember. They were meant as arbitrary terms for the structure of clouds, and their meanings were clearly defined. Once the observer masters this, they can correctly apply the term, after some experience, to the subject in all its forms, colors, or positions. The 294 new names, if intended as another set of arbitrary terms, are unnecessary; if they aim to provide an explanation in English, they miss the mark by only addressing part of the definition; the whole must be considered to study the subject successfully. For example, consider the first modification. The term cirrus readily adopts an abstract meaning, applicable to both straight and curvy forms of the subject. But the name curl-cloud cannot acquire this broader meaning without forcing its obvious sense; thus, it may confuse the reader rather than aid their understanding. Other names are just as lacking in meaning for English readers as the Latin terms themselves. However, the main issue with English or any local terms remains unaddressed. They diminish the nomenclature's general advantage of forming, as much as possible, a universal language that allows people from different countries to share their ideas without needing translation.’
I here adduce these as examples of the arguments against changing an established nomenclature. As grounds of selecting a new one, they may be taken into account hereafter.
I present these as examples of the arguments against changing a well-established naming system. These can be considered as reasons for choosing a new one in the future.
Aphorism XI.
Aphorism 11.
Terms which imply theoretical views are admissible, as far as the theory is proved.
Terms that suggest theoretical perspectives are acceptable, as long as the theory is proven.
It is not unfrequently stated that the circumstances from which the names employed in science borrow their meaning, ought to be facts and not theories. But such a recommendation implies a belief that facts are rigorously distinguished from theories and directly opposed to them; which belief, we have repeatedly seen, is unfounded. When theories are firmly established, they become facts; and names founded on such theoretical views are unexceptionable. If we speak of the minor 295 axis of Jupiter’s orbit, or of his density, or of the angle of refraction, or the length of an undulation of red light, we assume certain theories; but inasmuch as the theories are now the inevitable interpretation of ascertained facts, we can have no better terms to designate the conceptions thus referred to. And hence the rule which we must follow is, not that our terms must involve no theory, but that they imply the theory only in that sense in which it is the interpretation of the facts.
It is often said that the meanings of names used in science should be based on facts rather than theories. However, this suggestion assumes a belief that facts can be clearly separated from theories and are completely opposed to them; a belief we have shown to be unfounded. Once theories are well-established, they become facts, and names based on those theoretical perspectives are valid. When we talk about the minor 295 axis of Jupiter’s orbit, or his density, or the angle of refraction, or the length of a wave of red light, we are assuming certain theories. However, since these theories are now the unavoidable interpretations of verified facts, there are no better terms to describe these concepts. Therefore, the principle we should follow is not that our terms should exclude any theory, but that they should reflect the theory only in the sense that it interprets the facts.
For example, the term polarization of light was objected to, as involving a theory. Perhaps the term was at first suggested by conceiving light to consist of particles having poles turned in a particular manner. But among intelligent speculators, the notion of polarization soon reduced itself to the simple conception of opposite properties in opposite positions, which is a bare statement of the fact: and the term being understood to have this meaning, is a perfectly good term, and indeed the best which we can imagine for designating what is intended.
For example, the term polarization of light was challenged because it implied a theory. It might have initially been suggested by imagining light made up of particles with poles oriented in a specific way. However, among thoughtful thinkers, the idea of polarization quickly simplified to the straightforward idea of opposite properties in opposite positions, which is just a plain statement of the fact. Once the term is recognized to carry this meaning, it becomes a perfectly valid term and, in fact, the best one we can think of to describe what is meant.
I need hardly add the caution, that names involving theoretical views not in accordance with facts are to be rejected. The following instances exemplify both the positive and the negative application of this maxim.
I barely need to mention the warning that names based on theoretical ideas that don’t match the facts should be dismissed. The examples below illustrate both the positive and negative use of this principle.
The distinction of primary and secondary rocks in geology was founded upon a theory; namely, that those which do not contain any organic remains were first deposited, and afterwards, those which contain plants and animals. But this theory was insecure from the first. The difficulty of making the separation which it implied, led to the introduction of a class of transition rocks. And the recent researches of geologists lead them to the conclusion, that those rocks which are termed primary, may be the newest, not the oldest, productions of nature.
The distinction between primary and secondary rocks in geology was based on a theory that said rocks without any organic remains were deposited first, followed by those containing plants and animals. However, this theory was shaky from the beginning. The challenge of making the separation it suggested led to the creation of a category of transition rocks. Recent research by geologists has led them to conclude that what are known as primary rocks might actually be the newest, not the oldest, creations of nature.
In order to avoid this incongruity, other terms have been proposed as substitutes for these. Sir C. Lyell remarks33, that granite, gneiss, and the like, form a class 296 which should be designated by a common name; which name should not be of chronological import. He proposes hypogene, signifying ‘nether-formed;’ and thus he adopts the theory that they have not assumed their present form and structure at the surface, but determines nothing of the period when they were produced.
To avoid this inconsistency, other terms have been suggested as alternatives. Sir C. Lyell notes 33 that granite, gneiss, and similar types form a category 296 that should have a common name, one that doesn't imply a specific time period. He suggests the term hypogene, meaning ‘formed below’; thus, he embraces the idea that they did not take on their current form and structure at the surface, but he doesn't specify when they were created.
These hypogene rocks, again, he divides into unstratified or plutonic, and altered stratified, or metamorphic; the latter term implying the hypothesis that the stratified rocks to which it is applied have been altered, by the effect of fire or otherwise, since they were deposited. That fossiliferous strata, in some cases at least, have undergone such a change, is demonstrable from facts34.
These hypogene rocks, once more, are divided into unstratified or plutonic rocks, and altered stratified, or metamorphic rocks; the latter term suggests the idea that the stratified rocks it refers to have been changed, due to fire or other factors, since their deposition. It can be demonstrated that certain fossil-rich layers have, in some cases, undergone such a change, as proven by facts34.
The modern nomenclature of chemistry implies the oxygen theory of chemistry. Hence it has sometimes been objected to. Thus Davy, in speaking of the Lavoisierian nomenclature, makes the following remarks, which, however plausible they may sound, will be found to be utterly erroneous35. ‘Simplicity and precision ought to be the characteristics of a scientific nomenclature: words should signify things, or the analogies of things, and not opinions.... A substance in one age supposed to be simple, in another is proved to be compound, and vice versâ. A theoretical nomenclature is liable to continual alterations: oxygenated muriatic acid is as improper a term as dephlogisticated marine acid. Every school believes itself to be in the right: and if every school assumes to itself the liberty of altering the names of chemical substances in consequence of new ideas of their composition, there can be no permanency in the language of the science; it must always be confused and uncertain. Bodies which are similar to each other should always be classed together; and there is a presumption that their composition is analogous. Metals, earths, alkalis, are appropriate names for the bodies they represent, and independent of all speculation: whereas oxides, sulphurets, and muriates are terms founded upon opinions of the composition of bodies, some of which have been already found erroneous. 297 The least dangerous mode of giving a systematic form to a language seems to be to signify the analogies of substances by some common sign affixed to the beginning or the termination of the word. Thus as the metals have been distinguished by a termination in um, as aurum, so their calciform or oxidated state might have been denoted by a termination in a, as aura: and no progress, however great, in the science could render it necessary that such a mode of appellation should be changed.’
The current terminology in chemistry is based on the oxygen theory. Because of this, it has received some criticism. Davy, while discussing Lavoisier's nomenclature, made the following comments, which, despite sounding reasonable, are completely wrong35. "Simplicity and precision should be the key traits of scientific naming: words should represent things or their analogies, not opinions.... A substance thought to be simple in one era may later be proven to be compound, and vice versa. A theoretical naming system is subject to constant changes: oxygenated muriatic acid is just as incorrect as dephlogisticated marine acid. Every school thinks it's right, and if each one feels free to change the names of chemical substances based on new ideas about their makeup, there will be no consistency in the language of the science; it will always be confusing and unreliable. Similar bodies should always be grouped together, and there’s a strong assumption that their composition is analogous. Metals, earths, and alkalis are suitable names for what they represent, independent of any speculation: whereas oxides, sulphurets, and muriates are terms based on assumptions about compositions, some of which have already been shown to be incorrect. 297 The safest way to create a systematic language seems to be to express the analogies of substances with a common sign added either to the beginning or the end of the word. For instance, as metals have names ending in um, like aurum, their calcinated or oxidized state could have been represented with an ending in a, as aura: and any advancement, no matter how significant, in the science wouldn't require changing such a naming method."
These remarks are founded upon distinctions which have no real existence. We cannot separate things from their properties, nor can we consider their properties and analogies in any other way than by having opinions about them. By contrasting analogies with opinions, it might appear as if the author maintained that there were certain analogies about which there was no room for erroneous opinions. Yet the analogies of chemical compounds, are, in fact, those points which have been most the subject of difference of opinion, and on which the revolutions of theories have most changed men’s views. As an example of analogies which are still recognized under alterations of theory, the writer gives the relation of a metal to its oxide or calciform state. But this analogy of metallic oxides, as Red Copper or Iron Ore, to Calx, or burnt lime, is very far from being self-evident;—so far indeed, that the recognition of the analogy was a great step in chemical theory. The terms which he quotes, oxygenated muriatic acid (and the same may be said of dephlogisticated marine acid,) if improper, are so not because they involve theory, but because they involve false theory;—not because those who framed them did not endeavour to express analogies, but because they expressed analogies about which they were mistaken. Unconnected names, as metals, earths, alkalis, are good as the basis of a systematic nomenclature, but they are not substitutes for such a nomenclature. A systematic nomenclature is an instrument of great utility and power, as the modern history of chemistry has shown. It would be highly unphilosophical to reject 298 the use of such an instrument, because, in the course of the revolutions of science, we may have to modify, or even to remodel it altogether. Its utility is not by that means destroyed. It has retained, transmitted, and enabled us to reason upon, the doctrines of the earlier theory, so far as they are true; and when this theory is absorbed into a more comprehensive one, (for this, and not its refutation, is the end of a theory so far as it is true,) the nomenclature is easily translated into that which the new theory introduces. We have seen, in the history of astronomy, how valuable the theory of epicycles was, in its time: the nomenclature of the relations of a planet’s orbit, which that theory introduced, was one of Kepler’s resources in discovering the elliptical theory; and, though now superseded, is still readily intelligible to astronomers.
These comments are based on distinctions that don’t actually exist. We can’t separate things from their properties, nor can we think about their properties and comparisons in any way other than by forming opinions about them. By contrasting analogies with opinions, it might seem like the author believes that some analogies are beyond having incorrect opinions. However, the analogies of chemical compounds are actually the ones that have sparked the most debate and led to significant changes in theories and perspectives. An example of analogies that are still recognized despite shifts in theory is the relationship between a metal and its oxide or calciform state. Yet, this analogy of metallic oxides, like Red Copper or Iron Ore, to Calx, or burnt lime, is far from obvious; in fact, recognizing this analogy was a major advancement in chemical theory. The terms he mentions, oxygenated muriatic acid (and the same applies to dephlogisticated marine acid), are not inappropriate because they involve a theory, but rather because they involve a flawed theory; they reflect attempts to express analogies, but those analogies were misunderstood. Disconnected names like metals, earths, and alkalis work well as a basis for a systematic naming system, but they can’t replace such a system. A systematic nomenclature is an incredibly useful and powerful tool, as modern chemistry has demonstrated. It would be quite unphilosophical to dismiss the use of this tool just because science evolves and may require modifications or complete overhauls. Its usefulness isn't diminished by that. It has preserved, passed on, and allowed us to think critically about the true aspects of earlier theories, and when this theory integrates into a more comprehensive one (since this is the aim of a theory as long as it holds true), the nomenclature can easily adapt to what the new theory presents. We have seen in the history of astronomy how valuable the theory of epicycles was in its time: the nomenclature related to a planet’s orbit introduced by that theory was one of Kepler’s tools in developing the elliptical theory; and, though now outdated, it is still easily understood by astronomers.
This is not the place to discuss the reasons for the form of scientific terms; otherwise we might ask, in reference to the objections to the Lavoisierian nomenclature, if such forms as aurum and aura are good to represent the absence or presence of oxygen, why such forms as sulphite and sulphate are not equally good to represent the presence of what we may call a smaller or larger dose of oxygen, so long as the oxygen theory is admitted in its present form; and to indicate still the difference of the same substances, if under any change of theory it should come to be interpreted in a new manner.
This isn't the right place to talk about why scientific terms are structured the way they are; otherwise, we could question, regarding the criticisms of Lavoisier's naming system, if terms like aurum and aura are suitable for showing the absence or presence of oxygen, why terms like sulphite and sulphate aren't just as appropriate for indicating what we might call a smaller or larger amount of oxygen, as long as we accept the oxygen theory as it currently stands; and to show the difference between the same substances if, under any change of theory, it ends up being interpreted differently.
But I do not now dwell upon such arguments, my object in this place being to show that terms involving theory are not only allowable, if understood so far as the theory is proved, but of great value, and indeed of indispensable use, in science. The objection to them is inconsistent with the objects of science. If, after all that has been done in chemistry or any other science, we have arrived at no solid knowledge, no permanent truth;—if all that we believe now may be proved to be false to-morrow;—then indeed our opinions and theories are corruptible elements, on which it would be unwise to rest any thing important, and which we might wish to exclude, even from our names. But if 299 our knowledge has no more security than this, we can find no reason why we should wish at all to have names of things, since the names are needed mainly that we may reason upon and increase our knowledge such as it is. If we are condemned to endless alternations of varying opinions, then, no doubt, our theoretical terms may be a source of confusion; but then, where would be the advantage of their being otherwise? what would be the value of words which should express in a more precise manner opinions equally fleeting? It will perhaps be said, our terms must express facts, not theories: but of this distinction so applied we have repeatedly shown the futility. Theories firmly established are facts. Is it not a fact that the rusting of iron arises from the metal combining with the oxygen of the atmosphere? Is it not a fact that a combination of oxygen and hydrogen produces water? That our terms should express such facts, is precisely what we are here inculcating.
But I won’t focus on those arguments right now; my goal here is to show that terms related to theory are not only acceptable, as long as we understand them based on proven theory, but they are also highly valuable and, in fact, essential in science. The objections to them contradict the aims of science. If, after everything that has been achieved in chemistry or any other science, we have gained no solid knowledge, no lasting truth;—if everything we currently believe could be proven false tomorrow;—then, indeed, our opinions and theories are unreliable aspects on which it would be foolish to base anything important, and we might even want to exclude them from our discussions altogether. But if 299 our knowledge is as insecure as this, we have no reason to want names for things, since names are mainly needed so we can reason about and expand our knowledge as it is. If we are stuck in endless changes of shifting opinions, then, sure, our theoretical terms might cause confusion; but then, what would be the benefit of them being anything different? What would be the value of words that expressed equally temporary opinions in a more precise way? It might be argued that our terms should express facts, not theories: but we’ve repeatedly shown how futile that distinction is when applied here. Established theories are facts. Isn’t it a fact that iron rusts because the metal combines with oxygen from the atmosphere? Isn’t it a fact that the combination of oxygen and hydrogen produces water? That our terms should express such facts is exactly what we are emphasizing.
Our examination of the history of science has led us to a view very different from that which represents it as consisting in the succession of hostile opinions. It is, on the contrary, a progress, in which each step is recognized and employed in the succeeding one. Every theory, so far as it is true, (and all that have prevailed extensively and long, contain a large portion of truth,) is taken up into the theory which succeeds and seems to expel it. All the narrower inductions of the first are included in the more comprehensive generalizations of the second. And this is performed mainly by means of such terms as we are now considering;—terms involving the previous theory. It is by means of such terms, that the truths at first ascertained become so familiar and manageable, that they can be employed as elementary facts in the formation of higher inductions.
Our study of the history of science has led us to a perspective quite different from the one that views it as a series of conflicting opinions. Instead, it’s a progression where each step builds on the next. Every theory, as long as it's valid (and those that have been widely accepted for a long time contain a significant amount of truth), gets incorporated into the next theory that seems to replace it. The narrower conclusions of the earlier theories are included in the broader generalizations of the newer ones. This is primarily accomplished through the terms we’re currently discussing—terms that reference the previous theory. It’s through these terms that the truths we initially discovered become so familiar and manageable that they can be used as foundational facts for building more advanced conclusions.
These principles must be applied also, though with great caution, and in a temperate manner, even to descriptive language. Thus the mode of describing the forms of crystals adopted by Werner and Romé de l’Isle was to consider an original form, from which other forms are derived by truncations of the edges and the 300 angles. Haüy’s method of describing the same forms, was to consider them as built up of rows of small solids, the angles being determined by the decrements of these rows. Both these methods of description involve hypothetical views; and the last was intended to rest on a true physical theory of the constitution of crystals. Both hypotheses are doubtful or false: yet both these methods are good as modes of description: nor is Haüy’s terminology vitiated, if we suppose (as in fact we must suppose in many instances,) that crystalline bodies are not really made up of such small solids. The mode of describing an octahedron of fluor spar, as derived from the cube, by decrements of one row on all the edges, would still be proper and useful as a description, whatever judgment we should form of the material structure of the body. But then, we must consider the solids which are thus introduced into the description as merely hypothetical geometrical forms, serving to determine the angles of the faces. It is in this way alone that Haüy’s nomenclature can now be retained.
These principles should be applied as well, but with great care and in a moderate way, even to descriptive language. So, the way Werner and Romé de l’Isle described crystal forms was by starting with an original shape, from which other shapes are created by truncations of the edges and the 300 angles. Haüy’s method of describing the same forms involved thinking of them as made up of rows of small solids, with the angles determined by the decrements of these rows. Both of these description methods involve theoretical ideas, and the latter was meant to be based on a true physical theory of crystal structure. Both hypotheses are questionable or incorrect: however, both methods are valid ways to describe shapes. Haüy’s terminology isn’t flawed if we assume (as we often must) that crystalline materials aren’t actually made up of such small solids. Describing an octahedron of fluor spar as derived from the cube, by decrements of one row on all the edges, would still be correct and useful as a description, no matter what we think about the material structure of the object. However, we must view the solids introduced into the description simply as hypothetical geometric forms that help determine the angles of the faces. It is only in this manner that Haüy’s nomenclature can still be used today.
In like manner we may admit theoretical views into the descriptive phraseology of other parts of Natural History: and the theoretical terms will replace the obvious images, in proportion as the theory is generally accepted and familiarly applied. For example, in speaking of the Honeysuckle, we may say that the upper leaves are perfoliate, meaning that a single round leaf is perforated by the stalk, or threaded upon it. Here is an image which sufficiently conveys the notion of the form. But it is now generally recognized that this apparent single leaf is, in fact, two opposite leaves joined together at their bases. If this were doubted, it may be proved by comparing the upper leaves with the lower, which are really separate and opposite. Hence the term connate is applied to these conjoined opposite leaves, implying that they grow together; or they are called connato-perfoliate. Again; formerly the corolla was called monopetalous or polypetalous, as it consisted of one part or of several: but it is now agreed among botanists that those corollas which 301 appear to consist of a single part, are, in fact, composed of several soldered together; hence the term gamopetalous is now employed (by De Candolle and his followers) instead of monopetalous36.
In a similar way, we can incorporate theoretical ideas into the descriptive language used in other areas of Natural History: the theoretical terms will take the place of clear images as the theory becomes widely accepted and commonly used. For example, when referring to the Honeysuckle, we might say that the upper leaves are perfoliate, meaning that a single round leaf is pierced by the stalk or threaded onto it. This image clearly conveys the concept of the form. However, it is now widely understood that this seemingly single leaf is actually two opposite leaves joined at their bases. If there were any doubt about this, it can be confirmed by comparing the upper leaves with the lower ones, which are truly separate and opposite. Therefore, the term connate is used for these connected opposite leaves, indicating that they grow together; they are also called connato-perfoliate. Additionally, previously the corolla was referred to as monopetalous or polypetalous, depending on whether it had one part or several. However, it is now agreed among botanists that those corollas that seem to consist of a single part are actually made up of several parts fused together; hence the term gamopetalous is now used (by De Candolle and his followers) instead of monopetalous36.
In this way the language of Natural History not only expresses, but inevitably implies, general laws of nature; and words are thus fitted to aid the progress of knowledge in this, as in other provinces of science.
In this way, the language of Natural History not only expresses but also implies general laws of nature; and words are designed to help advance knowledge in this field, just like in other areas of science.
Aphorism XII.
Aphorism 12.
If terms are systematically good, they are not to be rejected because they are etymologically inaccurate.
If the terms are consistently effective, they shouldn't be dismissed simply because they're etymologically inaccurate.
Terms belonging to a system are defined, not by the meaning of their radical words, but by their place in the system. That they should be appropriate in their signification, aids the processes of introducing and remembering them, and should therefore be carefully attended to by those who invent and establish them; but this once done, no objections founded upon their etymological import are of any material weight. We find no inconvenience in the circumstance that geometry means the measuring of the earth, that the name porphyry is applied to many rocks which have no fiery spots, as the word implies, and oolite to strata which have no roelike structure. In like manner, if the term pœcilite were already generally received, as the name of a certain group of strata, it would be no valid ground for quarrelling with it, that this group was not always variegated in colour, or that other groups were equally variegated: although undoubtedly in introducing such a term, care should be taken to make it as distinctive as possible. It often happens, as we have seen, that by the natural progress of changes in language, a word is steadily confirmed in a sense quite different from its etymological import. But though 302 we may accept such instances, we must not wantonly attempt to imitate them. I say, not wantonly: for if the progress of scientific identification compel us to follow any class of objects into circumstances where the derivation of the term is inapplicable, we may still consider the term as an unmeaning sound, or rather an historical symbol, expressing a certain member of our system. Thus if, in following the course of the mountain or carboniferous limestone, we find that in Ireland it does not form mountains nor contain coal, we should act unwisely in breaking down the nomenclature in which our systematic relations are already expressed, in order to gain, in a particular case, a propriety of language which has no scientific value.
Terms and Conditions in a system are defined not by the meanings of their root words, but by their position within the system. While it’s important that their meanings are suitable to help with their introduction and memorization, this should be carefully considered by those who create and establish them. Once that’s done, objections based on their etymological meanings carry little weight. We don’t find any issue with the fact that geometry means measuring the earth, that the term porphyry is used for many rocks that don’t have fiery spots as the word suggests, or that oolite refers to layers that lack a roelike structure. Similarly, if the term pœcilite were widely accepted as the name for a specific group of strata, it wouldn’t be a valid reason to dispute it just because this group isn’t always variegated in color, or that other groups are also variegated. However, when introducing such a term, care should be taken to make it as distinctive as possible. It often happens, as we've observed, that through the natural evolution of language, a word ends up being confirmed in a meaning that’s quite different from its etymological root. While we can accept such instances, we shouldn’t recklessly try to mimic them. I say not recklessly: if the progress of scientific identification forces us to categorize a class of objects under circumstances where the term’s origin doesn’t apply, we can still view the term as an unmeaning sound or simply a historical symbol representing a specific part of our system. For example, if in tracing the mountain or carboniferous limestone we find that in Ireland it doesn’t form mountains or contain coal, it would be unwise to dismantle the terminology that already expresses our systematic relationships just to achieve linguistic accuracy in a particular case that has no scientific significance.
All attempts to act upon the maxim opposite to this, and to make our scientific names properly descriptive of the objects, have failed and must fail. For the marks which really distinguish the natural classes of objects, are by no means obvious. The discovery of them is one of the most important steps in science; and when they are discovered, they are constantly liable to exceptions, because they do not contain the essential differences of the classes. The natural order Umbellatæ, in order to be a natural order, must contain some plants which have not umbels, as Eryngium37. ‘In such cases,’ said Linnæus, ‘it is of small import what you call the order, if you take a proper series of plants, and give it some name which is clearly understood to apply to the plants you have associated.’ ‘I have,’ he adds, ‘followed the rule of borrowing the name à fortiori, from the principal feature.’
All attempts to act on the opposite principle and make our scientific names accurately describe the objects have failed and will continue to fail. The features that truly distinguish the natural classes of objects are not at all obvious. Discovering them is one of the most crucial steps in science; and once discovered, they often have exceptions because they don't capture the essential differences between the classes. The natural order Umbellatæ, to be a true natural order, must include some plants that don't have umbels, like Eryngium37. ‘In such cases,’ Linnæus said, ‘it doesn't matter much what you call the order, as long as you choose an appropriate series of plants and give it a name that clearly relates to the plants you've grouped together.’ ‘I have,’ he adds, ‘followed the rule of borrowing the name à fortiori from the main feature.’
The distinction of crystals into systems according to the degree of symmetry which obtains in them, has been explained elsewhere. Two of these systems, of which the relation as to symmetry might be expressed by saying that one is square pyramidal and the other oblong pyramidal, or the first square prismatic and the second oblong prismatic, are termed by Mohs, the first, Pyramidal, and the second Prismatic. And it may 303 be doubted whether it is worth while to invent other terms, though these are thus defective in characteristic significance. As an example of a needless rejection of old terms in virtue of a supposed impropriety in their meaning, I may mention the attempt made in the last edition of Haüy’s Mineralogy, to substitute autopside and heteropside for metallic and unmetallic. It was supposed to be proved that all bodies have a metal for their basis; and hence it was wished to avoid the term unmetallic. But the words metallic and unmetallic may mean that minerals seem metallic and unmetallic, just as well as if they contained the element opside to imply this seeming. The old names express all that the new express, and with more simplicity, and therefore should not be disturbed.
The classification of crystals into systems based on their level of symmetry has been detailed elsewhere. Two of these systems, which can be described in terms of symmetry as one being square pyramidal and the other oblong pyramidal, or the first square prismatic and the second oblong prismatic, are referred to by Mohs as the first being Pyramidal and the second Prismatic. It may be questioned whether it’s necessary to create new terms, even though these existing ones may lack precise characteristic significance. For instance, the recent edition of Haüy’s Mineralogy attempts to replace metallic and unmetallic with autopside and heteropside. The rationale was that all substances are based on metal, which led to the desire to avoid the term unmetallic. However, the terms metallic and unmetallic can indicate that minerals appear metallic or unmetallic, just as well as if they contained the element opside to suggest this appearance. The old terms convey everything that the new terms do, but in a more straightforward way, so they should remain unchanged.
The maxim on which we are now insisting, that we are not to be too scrupulous about the etymology of scientific terms, may, at first sight, appear to be at variance with our Fourth Aphorism, that words used technically are to retain their common meaning as far as possible. But it must be recollected, that in the Fourth Aphorism we spoke of common words appropriated as technical terms; we here speak of words constructed for scientific purposes. And although it is, perhaps, impossible to draw a broad line between these two classes of terms, still the rule of propriety may be stated thus: In technical terms, deviations from the usual meaning of words are bad in proportion as the words are more familiar in our own language. Thus we may apply the term Cirrus to a cloud composed of filaments, even if these filaments are straight; but to call such a cloud a Curl cloud would be much more harsh.
The principle we're emphasizing now— that we shouldn't be overly concerned about the origins of scientific terms—might seem, at first glance, to contradict our Fourth Aphorism, which states that technical words should keep their common meanings as much as possible. However, it's important to remember that in the Fourth Aphorism, we referred to common words that have been appropriated as technical terms; here, we are discussing words constructed specifically for scientific use. While it may be impossible to draw a clear line between these two types of terms, the guideline can be summarized as follows: In technical terms, the more familiar a word is in our own language, the worse deviations from its usual meaning become. For example, we can refer to a cloud made of filaments as Cirrus, even if those filaments are straight; but calling such a cloud a Curl cloud would feel much less appropriate.
Since the names of things, and of classes of things, when constructed so as to involve a description, are constantly liable to become bad, the natural classes shifting away from the descriptive marks thus prematurely and casually adopted, I venture to lay down the following maxim. 304
Since the names of things, and of categories of things, when created to include a description, can easily become inaccurate, as natural classes often change away from these descriptive labels that are carelessly and hastily chosen, I propose the following principle. 304
Aphorism XIII.
Aphorism 13.
The fundamental terms of a system of Nomenclature may be conveniently borrowed from casual or arbitrary circumstances.
The basic terms of a naming system can easily be taken from random or arbitrary situations.
For instance, the names of plants, of minerals, and of geological strata, may be taken from the places where they occur conspicuously or in a distinct form; as Parietaria, Parnassia, Chalcedony, Arragonite, Silurian system, Purbeck limestone. These names may be considered as at first supplying standards of reference; for in order to ascertain whether any rock be Purbeck limestone, we might compare it with the rocks in the Isle of Purbeck. But this reference to a local standard is of authority only till the place of the object in the system, and its distinctive marks, are ascertained. It would not vitiate the above names, if it were found that the Parnassia does not grow on Parnassus; that Chalcedony is not found in Chalcedon; or even that Arragonite no longer occurs in Arragon; for it is now firmly established as a mineral species. Even in geology such a reference is arbitrary, and may be superseded, or at least modified, by a more systematic determination. Alpine limestone is no longer accepted as a satisfactory designation of a rock, now that we know the limestone of the Alps to be of various ages.
For example, the names of plants, minerals, and geological layers can come from the locations where they are clearly found or appear in a specific form; like Parietaria, Parnassia, Chalcedony, Arragonite, Silurian system, Purbeck limestone. These names initially serve as standards of reference; to determine if a rock is Purbeck limestone, we could compare it to the rocks found in the Isle of Purbeck. However, this local reference only holds authority until we understand the object's position in the system and its unique characteristics. It wouldn’t invalidate these names if it turned out that Parnassia doesn’t grow on Parnassus, that Chalcedony isn’t found in Chalcedon, or even that Arragonite no longer exists in Arragon; because it is now clearly defined as a mineral species. Even in geology, such a reference is arbitrary and can be replaced or at least adjusted by a more systematic classification. Alpine limestone is no longer seen as a suitable name for a rock, now that we know the limestone of the Alps comes from different geological periods.
Again, names of persons, either casually connected with the object, or arbitrarily applied to it, may be employed as designations. This has been done most copiously in botany, as for example, Nicotiana, Dahlia, Fuchsia, Jungermannia, Lonicera. And Linnæus has laid down rules for restricting this mode of perpetuating the memory of men, in the names of plants. Those generic names, he says38, which have been constructed to preserve the memory of persons who have deserved well of botany, are to be religiously retained. This, he adds, is the sole and supreme reward of the botanist’s labours, and must be carefully guarded and 305 scrupulously bestowed, as an encouragement and an honour. Still more arbitrary are the terms borrowed from the names of the gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines of antiquity, to designate new genera in those departments of natural history in which so many have been discovered in recent times as to weary out all attempts at descriptive nomenclature. Cuvier has countenanced this method. ‘I have had to frame many new names of genera and sub-genera,’ he says39, ‘for the sub-genera which I have established were so numerous and various, that the memory is not satisfied with numerical indications. These I have chosen either so as to indicate some character, or among the usual denominations, which I have latinized, or finally, after the example of Linnæus, among the names of mythology, which are in general agreeable to the ear, and which are far from being exhausted.’
Again, names of people, whether casually linked to the subject or randomly applied to it, can be used as labels. This has been done extensively in botany, such as with Nicotiana, Dahlia, Fuchsia, Jungermannia, Lonicera. Linnæus established rules for limiting this method of honoring individuals through plant names. He states that those generic names, he says38, created to honor individuals who have made significant contributions to botany, should be strictly preserved. He adds that this is the only true reward for a botanist's efforts and must be carefully protected and 305 awarded, as a form of encouragement and respect. Even more arbitrary are the terms derived from the names of gods, goddesses, heroes, and heroines of ancient times, used to name new genera in those areas of natural history where discoveries have become so plentiful that attempts at descriptive naming have become exhausting. Cuvier supported this approach. "I have had to create many new names for genera and sub-genera," he says39, "because the sub-genera I have established are so numerous and varied that numerical indicators alone aren't enough. I have chosen these names to either highlight a characteristic, or from the usual terms which I have latinized, or lastly, following Linnæus's example, from names in mythology, which are generally pleasing to the ear and are far from being fully used."
This mode of framing names from the names of persons to whom it was intended to do honour, has been employed also in the mathematical and chemical sciences; but such names have rarely obtained any permanence, except when they recorded an inventor or discoverer. Some of the constellations, indeed, have retained such appellations, as Berenice’s Hair; and the new star which shone out in the time of Cæsar, would probably have retained the name given to it, of the Julian Star, if it had not disappeared again soon after. In the map of the Moon, almost all the parts have had such names imposed upon them by those who have constructed such maps, and these names have very properly been retained. But the names of new planets and satellites thus suggested have not been generally accepted; as the Medicean stars, the name employed by Galileo for the satellites of Jupiter; the Georgium Sidus, the appellation proposed by Herschel for Uranus when first discovered40; Ceres Ferdinandea, 306 the name which Piazzi wished to impose on the small planet Ceres. The names given to astronomical Tables by the astronomers who constructed them have been most steadily adhered to, being indeed names of books, and not of natural objects. Thus there were the Ilchanic, the Alphonsine, the Rudolphine, the Carolinian Tables. Comets which have been ascertained to be periodical, have very properly had assigned to them the name of the person who established this point; and of these we have thus, Halley’s, Encke’s Comet, and Biela’s or Gambart’s Comet.
This way of naming things after the people it was meant to honor has also been used in math and chemistry. But these names rarely stick around unless they represent an inventor or discoverer. Some constellations have kept names like Berenice’s Hair; the new star that appeared during Caesar’s time would probably have kept the name Julian Star if it hadn’t disappeared soon after. In lunar maps, almost all parts have names given by the mapmakers, and these names are rightly retained. However, the names suggested for new planets and moons haven't generally been accepted, like the Medicean stars that Galileo called Jupiter's moons; Georgium Sidus, the name Herschel proposed for Uranus when he discovered it40; and Ceres Ferdinandea, the name Piazzi wanted to give the small planet Ceres. The names given to astronomical tables by their creators have been consistently used, as they are names of books, not natural objects. These include the Ilchanic, the Alphonsine, the Rudolphine, and the Carolinian tables. Comets that have been confirmed as periodic have rightfully been named after the people who established that fact, resulting in Halley’s, Encke’s Comet, and Biela’s or Gambart’s Comet.
In the case of discoveries in science or inventions of apparatus, the name of the inventor is very properly employed as the designation. Thus we have the Torricellian Vacuum, the Voltaic Pile, Fahrenheit’s Thermometer. And in the same manner with regard to laws of nature, we have Kepler’s Laws, Boyle or Mariotte’s law of the elasticity of air, Huyghens’s law of double refraction, Newton’s scale of colours. Descartes’ law of refraction is an unjust appellation; for the discovery of the law of sines was made by Snell. In deductive mathematics, where the invention of a theorem is generally a more definite step than an induction, this mode of designation is more common, as Demoivre’s Theorem, Maclaurin’s Theorem, Lagrange’s Theorem, Eulerian Integrals.
In science discoveries or inventions of devices, it's quite common to use the inventor's name as the label. For example, we have the Torricellian Vacuum, the Voltaic Pile, and Fahrenheit’s Thermometer. Similarly, for natural laws, we refer to Kepler’s Laws, Boyle or Mariotte’s law of air elasticity, Huyghens’s law of double refraction, and Newton’s color scale. The term Descartes’ law of refraction is misleading; the law of sines was actually discovered by Snell. In deductive mathematics, since proving a theorem is often a more specific achievement than induction, this naming convention is more prevalent, such as in Demoivre’s Theorem, Maclaurin’s Theorem, Lagrange’s Theorem, and Eulerian Integrals.
In the History of Science41 I have remarked that in the discovery of what is termed galvanism, Volta’s 307 office was of a higher and more philosophical kind than that of Galvani; and I have, on this account, urged the propriety of employing the term voltaic, rather than galvanic electricity. I may add that the electricity of the common machine is often placed in contrast with this, and appears to require an express name. Mr. Faraday calls it common or machine electricity; but I think that franklinic electricity would form a more natural correspondence with voltaic, and would be well justified by Franklin’s place in the history of that part of the subject.
In the History of Science41 I mentioned that when it comes to the discovery of what's called galvanism, Volta’s role was more significant and philosophical compared to Galvani's; for this reason, I've advocated for using the term voltaic instead of galvanic electricity. I should also point out that the electricity generated by the common machine is frequently contrasted with this and seems to need a specific name. Mr. Faraday refers to it as common or machine electricity; however, I believe that franklinic electricity would provide a more fitting counterpart to voltaic, and it would be well supported by Franklin’s contribution to the history of that area of study.
Aphorism XIV.
Aphorism 14.
The Binary Method of Nomenclature (Names by Genus and Species) is the most convenient hitherto employed in Classification.
The Binary Method of Nomenclature (Names by Genus and Species) is the most convenient method used so far in Classification.
The number of species in every province of Natural History is so vast that we cannot distinguish them and record the distinctions without some artifice. The known species of plants, for instance, were 10,000 in the time of Linnæus, and are now probably 60,000. It would be useless to endeavour to frame and employ separate names for each of these species.
The number of species in every province of Natural History is so huge that we can't tell them apart and keep track of the differences without some tricks. The known species of plants, for example, were 10,000 in Linnæus's time, and are now probably 60,000. It would be pointless to try to create and use separate names for each of these species.
The division of the objects into a subordinated system of classification enables us to introduce a Nomenclature which does not require this enormous number of names. The artifice employed is, to name a specimen by means of two (or it might be more) steps of the successive division. Thus in Botany, each of the Genera has its name, and the species are marked by the addition of some epithet to the name of the genus. In this manner about 1,700 Generic Names, with a moderate number of Specific Names, were found by Linnæus sufficient to designate with precision all the species of vegetables known at his time. And this Binary Method of Nomenclature has been found so convenient, that it has been universally adopted in every other department of the Natural History of organized beings. 308
The classification of objects into a structured system allows us to create a naming system that doesn’t require an overwhelming number of names. The trick is to name a specimen using two (or sometimes more) steps in the classification process. For example, in Botany, each genus has its own name, and the species are identified by adding a descriptor to the genus name. This way, around 1,700 genus names, along with a reasonable number of species names, were discovered by Linnaeus as sufficient to accurately identify all the plant species known during his time. This Binary Method of naming has proven so practical that it has been widely adopted in every other area of the Natural History of living organisms. 308
Many other modes of Nomenclature have been tried, but no other has at all taken root. Linnæus himself appears at first to have intended marking each species by the Generic Name, accompanied by a characteristic Descriptive Phrase; and to have proposed the employment of a Trivial Specific Name, as he termed it, only as a method of occasional convenience. The use of these trivial names, however, has become universal, as we have said; and is by many persons considered the greatest improvement introduced at the Linnæan reform.
Many other naming systems have been attempted, but none have really caught on. Linnæus initially seemed to plan on identifying each species with a Generic Name, along with a distinctive Descriptive Phrase, and suggested using a Trivial Specific Name, as he called it, only for convenience. However, the use of these trivial names has become widespread, as we've mentioned, and many people see it as the biggest improvement brought about by the Linnæan reform.
Aphorism XV.
Aphorism 15.
The Maxims of Linnæus concerning the Names to be used in Botany, (Philosophia Botanica, Nomina. Sections 210 to 255) are good examples of Aphorisms on this subject.
The Maxims of Linnæus about the Names to Use in Botany, (Philosophia Botanica, Nomina. Sections 210 to 255) are great examples of aphorisms on this topic.
Both Linnæus and other writers (as Adanson) have given many maxims with a view of regulating the selection of generic and specific names. The maxims of Linnæus were intended as much as possible to exclude barbarism and confusion, and have, upon the whole, been generally adopted.
Both Linnæus and other authors (like Adanson) have provided many guidelines to help with choosing generic and specific names. Linnæus's guidelines aimed to minimize awkwardness and confusion, and overall, they have been widely accepted.
These canons, and the sagacious modesty of great botanists, like Robert Brown, in conforming to them, have kept the majority of good botanists within salutary limits; though many of these canons were objected to by the contemporaries of Linnæus (Adanson and others42) as capricious and unnecessary restrictions.
These guidelines, along with the wise humility of great botanists like Robert Brown in adhering to them, have kept most good botanists within healthy boundaries; although many of these guidelines were criticized by Linnæus's contemporaries (Adanson and others42) as arbitrary and unnecessary limitations.
Many of the names introduced by Linnæus certainly
appear fanciful enough. Thus he gives the name Bauhinia
to a plant which has leaves in pairs, because the
Bauhins were a pair of brothers. Banisteria is the
name of a climbing plant in honour of Banister, who
travelled among mountains. But such names once
established by adequate authority lose all their
inconvenience and easily become permanent, and hence the
reasonableness of one of the Linnæan
rules43:—
That as such a perpetuation of the names of persons 309
by the names of plants is the only honour that botanists
have to bestow, it ought to be used with care and
caution, and religiously respected.
Many of the names introduced by Linnæus definitely seem quite imaginative. For example, he named a plant Bauhinia because it has paired leaves, honoring the Bauhin brothers who were a pair. Banisteria is the name of a climbing plant named after Banister, who explored mountainous regions. However, once these names are accepted by credible authority, they lose their awkwardness and easily become permanent. This highlights the importance of one of Linnæan rules43:—
That since the enduring names of individuals through plant names is the only honor botanists can give, it should be used thoughtfully and respected.
[3rd ed. It may serve to show how sensitive botanists are to the allusions contained in such names, that it has been charged against Linnæus, as a proof of malignity towards Buffon, that he changed the name of the genus Buffonia, established by Sauvages, into Bufonia, which suggested a derivation from Bufo, a toad. It appears to be proved that the spelling was not Linnæus’s doing.]
[3rd ed. It may serve to show how sensitive botanists are to the references in such names that it has been claimed against Linnaeus, as evidence of hostility toward Buffon, that he changed the name of the genus Buffonia, established by Sauvages, to Bufonia, which hinted at a connection to Bufo, a toad. It seems to be established that the spelling change was not Linnaeus’s doing.]
Another Linnæan maxim is (Art. 219), that the generic name must be fixed before we attempt to form a specific name; ‘the latter without the former is like the clapper without the bell.’
Another Linnæan maxim is (Art. 219), that the generic name must be established before we try to create a specific name; ‘the latter without the former is like the clapper without the bell.’
The name of the genus being fixed, the species may be marked (Art. 257) by adding to it ‘a single word taken at will from any quarter;’ that is, it need not involve a description or any essential property of the plant, but may be a casual or arbitrary appellation. Thus the various species of Hieracium44 are Hieracium Alpinum, H. Halleri, H. Pilosella, H. dubium, H. murorum, &c., where we see how different may be the kind of origin of the words.
The name of the genus being established, the species can be labeled (Art. 257) by adding "a single word chosen freely from anywhere;" meaning it doesn’t have to describe or represent any essential characteristic of the plant, but can be a random or arbitrary name. For example, the various species of Hieracium44 include Hieracium Alpinum, H. Halleri, H. Pilosella, H. dubium, H. murorum, etc., illustrating the diverse origins of these names.
Attempts have been made at various times to form the names of species from those of genera in some more symmetrical manner. But these have not been successful, nor are they likely to be so; and we shall venture to propound an axiom in condemnation of such names.
Attempts have been made at different times to create species names from genus names in a more balanced way. However, these efforts haven’t worked out, nor are they likely to succeed; and we will propose a principle against such names.
Aphorism XVI.
Aphorism 16.
Numerical names in Classification are bad; and the same may be said of other names of kinds, depending upon any fixed series of notes of order.
Numerical names in classification are ineffective, and the same can be said for other names of categories that rely on any fixed series of notes or order.
With regard to numerical names of kinds, of species for instance, the objections are of this nature. Besides that such names offer nothing for the imagination to take hold of, new discoveries will probably alter the 310 numeration, and make the names erroneous. Thus, if we call the species of a genus 1, 2, 3, a new species intermediate between 1 and 2, 2 and 3, &c. cannot be put in its place without damaging the numbers.
About numerical names for types, like species for example, the criticisms are as follows. In addition to the fact that such names don’t inspire any imagination, new discoveries will likely change the 310 numbering, rendering the names incorrect. Therefore, if we label the species of a genus as 1, 2, 3, introducing a new species that falls between 1 and 2, or 2 and 3, etc., will disrupt the numbering scheme.
The geological term Trias, lately introduced to designate the group consisting of the three members (Bunter Sandstein, Muschelkalk, and Keuper) becomes improper if, as some geologists hold, two of these members cannot be separated.
The geological term Trias, recently introduced to refer to the group that includes the three members (Bunter Sandstein, Muschelkalk, and Keuper) becomes inappropriate if, as some geologists believe, two of these members cannot be distinguished from each other.
Objections resembling those which apply to numerical designations of species, apply to other cases of fixed series: for instance, when it has been proposed to mark the species by altering the termination of the genus. Thus Adanson45, denoting a genus by the name Fonna (Lychnidea), conceived he might mark five of its species by altering the last syllable, Fonna, Fonna-e, Fonna-i, Fonna-o, Fonna-u; then others by Fonna-ba, Fonna-ka, and so on. This would be liable to the same evils which have been noticed as belonging to the numerical method46.
Objections similar to those concerning numerical names of species also apply to other cases of fixed series. For example, when someone suggested using variations of the genus name to identify species. Adanson45, who used the name Fonna for the genus (Lychnidea), thought he could differentiate five of its species by changing the last syllable: Fonna, Fonna-e, Fonna-i, Fonna-o, Fonna-u; and then others by Fonna-ba, Fonna-ka, and so on. This approach would have the same disadvantages that have been pointed out regarding the numerical method46.
Aphorism XVII.
Aphorism 17.
In any classificatory science names including more than two steps of the classification may be employed if it be found convenient.
In any classification science, names that include more than two levels of classification can be used if it's found to be useful.
Linnæus, in his canons for botanical nomenclature (Art. 212), says that the names of the class and the order are to be mute, while the names of the Genus and Species are sonorous. And accordingly the names 311 of plants (and the same is true of animals) have in common practice been binary only, consisting of a generic and a specific name. The class and the order have not been admitted to form part of the appellation of the species. Indeed it is easy to see that a name, which must be identical in so many instances as that of an Order would be, would be felt as superfluous and burthensome. Accordingly, Linnæus makes it one of his maxims47, that the name of the Class and Order must not be expressed but understood, and hence, he says, Royen, who took Lilium for the name of a Class, rightly rejected this word as a generic name, and substituted Lirium with the Greek termination.
Linnaeus, in his rules for botanical naming (Art. 212), states that the names for class and order should be mute, while the names for Genus and Species should be sonorous. As a result, the names of plants (and animals, too) have traditionally been binary, made up of a generic name and a specific name. The class and order are not included in the species name. In fact, it's clear that a name that would need to be the same in many cases, like that of an Order, would seem unnecessary and cumbersome. Therefore, Linnæus includes in his principles47, that the names of Class and Order should not be directly stated but understood, and thus, he mentions that Royen, who used Lilium as the name of a Class, correctly dismissed this term as a generic name and replaced it with Lirium, adopting the Greek ending.
Yet we must not too peremptorily assume such maxims as these to be universal for all classificatory sciences. It is very possible that it may be found advisable to use three terms, that of Order, Genus, and Species in designating minerals, as is done in Mohs’s nomenclature, for example, Rhombohedral Calc Haloide, Paratomous Hal Baryte.
Yet we shouldn't assume that these principles are universally applicable to all classification sciences. It might actually be more useful to use three terms—Order, Genus, and Species—when naming minerals, as seen in Mohs’s classification, for instance, Rhombohedral Calc Haloide, Paratomous Hal Baryte.
It is possible also that it may be found useful in the same science (Mineralogy) to mark some of the steps of classification by the termination. Thus it has been proposed to confine the termination ite to the Order Silicides of Naumann, as Apophyllite, Stilbite, Leucite, &c., and to use names of different form in other orders, as Talc Spar for Brennerite, Pyramidal Titanium Oxide for Octahedrite. Some such method appears to be the most likely to give us a tolerable mineralogical nomenclature.
It might also be helpful in the same field (Mineralogy) to distinguish some classification steps by their endings. For example, it has been suggested to limit the ending ite to the Order Silicides of Naumann, like Apophyllite, Stilbite, Leucite, etc., and to use names with different endings in other orders, such as Talc Spar for Brennerite, and Pyramidal Titanium Oxide for Octahedrite. A method like this seems to be the most promising way to develop a decent mineralogical naming system.
Aphorism XVIII.
Aphorism 18.
In forming a Terminology, words may be invented when necessary, but they cannot be conveniently borrowed from casual or arbitrary circumstances48.
When creating a terminology, it's okay to invent words when needed, but they can't be easily taken from random or arbitrary situations48.
It will be recollected that Terminology is a language employed for describing objects, Nomenclature, a body 312 of names of the objects themselves. The names, as was stated in the last maxim, may be arbitrary; but the descriptive terms must be borrowed from words of suitable meaning in the modern or the classical languages. Thus the whole terminology which Linnæus introduced into botany, is founded upon the received use of Latin words, although he defined their meaning so as to make it precise when it was not so, according to Aphorism V. But many of the terms were invented by him and other botanists, as Perianth, Nectary, Pericarp; so many, indeed, as to form, along with the others, a considerable language. Many of the terms which are now become familiar were originally invented by writers on botany. Thus the word Petal, for one division of the corolla, was introduced by Fabius Columna. The term Sepal was devised by Necker to express each of the divisions of the calyx. And up to the most recent times, new denominations of parts and conditions of parts have been devised by botanists, when they found them necessary, in order to mark important differences or resemblances. Thus the general Receptacle of the flower, as it is termed by Linnæus, or Torus by Salisbury, is continued into organs which carry the stamina and pistil, or the pistil alone, or the whole flower; this organ has hence been termed49 Gonophore, Carpophore, and Anthophore, in these cases.
It will be remembered that terminology is a language used to describe objects, while nomenclature is a collection 312 of names for those objects. The names, as mentioned in the last maxim, can be arbitrary; however, the descriptive terms must be taken from words with appropriate meanings in either modern or classical languages. Therefore, the entire terminology that Linnæus introduced into botany is based on commonly accepted Latin words, even though he defined their meanings to be more precise when they weren't, according to Aphorism V.. But many of the terms were created by him and other botanists, such as Perianth, Nectary, and Pericarp; indeed, there are so many that they create, along with the others, a significant language. Many of the terms that are now well-known were originally created by writers on botany. For example, the word Petal, referencing one part of the corolla, was introduced by Fabius Columna. The term Sepal was invented by Necker to refer to each part of the calyx. Even in recent times, botanists have developed new names for parts and their conditions when needed, to highlight important differences or similarities. Thus, the general Receptacle of the flower, referred to by Linnæus, or Torus by Salisbury, extends into structures that hold the stamens and pistil, or just the pistil, or the whole flower; this structure has been named 49 Gonophore, Carpophore, and Anthophore in these instances.
In like manner when Cuvier had ascertained that the lower jaws of Saurians consisted always of six pieces having definite relations of form and position, he gave names to them, and termed them respectively the Dental, the Angular, the Coronoid, the Articular, the Complementary, and the Opercular Bones.
Similarly, when Cuvier figured out that the lower jaws of Saurians were always made up of six pieces with specific shapes and positions, he named them and referred to them as the Dental, the Angular, the Coronoid, the Articular, the Complementary, and the Opercular Bones.
In all these cases, the descriptive terms thus introduced have been significant in their derivation. An attempt to circulate a perfectly arbitrary word as a means of description would probably be unsuccessful. We have, indeed, some examples approaching to arbitrary designations, in the Wernerian names of colours, 313 which are a part of the terminology of Natural History. Many of these names are borrowed from natural resemblances, as Auricula purple, Apple green, Straw yellow; but the names of others are taken from casual occurrences, mostly, however, such as were already recognized in common language, as Prussian blue, Dutch orange, King’s yellow.
In all these cases, the descriptive terms introduced have been meaningful in their origin. Trying to use a completely random word as a way to describe something would likely fail. We do have some examples that come close to arbitrary names, like the Wernerian color names, which are part of the terminology of Natural History. Many of these names are based on natural similarities, such as Auricula purple, Apple green, and Straw yellow; but the names of others come from random events, mostly ones that were already recognized in everyday language, like Prussian blue, Dutch orange, and King’s yellow.
The extension of arbitrary names in scientific terminology is by no means to be encouraged. I may mention a case in which it was very properly avoided. When Mr. Faraday’s researches on Voltaic electricity had led him to perceive the great impropriety of the term poles, as applied to the apparatus, since the processes have not reference to any opposed points, but to two opposite directions of a path, he very suitably wished to substitute for the phrases positive pole and negative pole, two words ending in ode, from ὅδος, a way. A person who did not see the value of our present maxim, that descriptive terms should be descriptive in their origin, might have proposed words perfectly arbitrary, as Alphode, and Betode: or, if he wished to pay a tribute of respect to the discoverers in this department of science, Galvanode and Voltaode, But such words would very justly have been rejected by Mr. Faraday, and would hardly have obtained any general currency among men of science. Zincode and Platinode, terms derived from the metal which, in one modification of the apparatus, forms what was previously termed the pole, are to be avoided, because in their origin too much is casual; and they are not a good basis for derivative terms. The pole at which the zinc is, is the Anode or Cathode, according as it is associated with different metals. Either the Zincode must sometimes mean the pole at which the Zinc is, and at other times that at which the Zinc is not, or else we must have as many names for poles as there are metals. Anode and Cathode, the terms which Mr. Faraday adopted, were free from these objections; for they refer to a natural standard of the direction of the voltaic current, in a manner which, though perhaps not obvious at first sight, is easily understood and 314 retained. Anode and Cathode, the rising and the setting way, are the directions which correspond to east and west in that voltaic current to which we must ascribe terrestrial magnetism. And with these words it was easy to connect Anïon and Cathïon, to designate the opposite elements which are separated and liberated at the two Electrodes.
The use of random names in scientific terminology really shouldn't be encouraged. I can point to an instance where it was rightly avoided. When Mr. Faraday’s research on Voltaic electricity made him realize how inappropriate the term poles was for the apparatus, since the processes don't refer to opposing points but to two opposite directions in a path, he wisely sought to replace the terms positive pole and negative pole with two words ending in ode, from way, meaning way. Someone who didn’t appreciate our current principle that descriptive terms should be rooted in their meanings might have suggested totally arbitrary words like Alphode and Betode; or, if they wanted to honor the pioneers in this field of science, Galvanode and Voltaode. However, such terms would rightly have been dismissed by Mr. Faraday and would have struggled to gain acceptance among scientists. Terms like Zincode and Platinode, derived from the metals that in one form of the apparatus corresponded to what was once called the pole, should be avoided because their origins are too coincidental, making them a poor foundation for derivative terms. The pole where the zinc is located is the Anode or Cathode, depending on its association with different metals. Either Zincode would sometimes refer to the pole where the Zinc is and other times to where it isn’t, or we’d need different names for each pole corresponding to every metal. The terms Anode and Cathode, chosen by Mr. Faraday, avoided these issues; they refer to a natural standard of the direction of the voltaic current, which, while perhaps not immediately obvious, is easily understood and 314 remembered. Anode and Cathode, meaning the rising and the setting way, correspond to east and west in the voltaic current that relates to terrestrial magnetism. These terms made it straightforward to link Anïon and Cathïon, to identify the opposite elements that are separated and released at the two Electrodes.
Aphorism XIX.
Aphorism 19.
The meaning of Technical Terms must be fixed by convention, not by casual reference to the ordinary meaning of words.
The meaning of technical terms should be determined by convention, not by casually referring to the everyday meaning of words.
In fixing the meaning of the Technical Terms which form the Terminology of any science, at least of the descriptive Terms, we necessarily fix, at the same time, the perceptions and notions which the Terms are to convey to a hearer. What do we mean by apple-green or French grey? It might, perhaps, be supposed that, in the first example, the term apple, referring to so familiar an object, sufficiently suggests the colour intended. But it may easily be seen that this is not true; for apples are of many different hues of green, and it is only by a conventional selection that we can appropriate the term to one special shade. When this appropriation is once made, the term refers to the sensation, and not to the parts of this term; for these enter into the compound merely as a help to the memory, whether the suggestion be a natural connexion as in ‘apple-green,’ or a casual one as in ‘French grey.’ In order to derive due advantage from technical terms of this kind, they must be associated immediately with the perception to which they belong; and not connected with it through the vague usages of common language. The memory must retain the sensation; and the technical word must be understood as directly as the most familiar word, and more distinctly. When we find such terms as tin-white or pinchbeck-brown, the metallic colour so denoted ought to start up in our memory without delay or search. 315
In defining the meaning of the technical terms that make up the terminology of any science, especially the descriptive terms, we inevitably establish the perceptions and ideas that these terms are meant to convey to a listener. What do we mean by apple-green or French grey? One might assume that in the first case, the term apple, referring to such a familiar object, adequately suggests the intended color. However, it's clear that this isn't the case; apples come in many different shades of green, and we can only designate the term to one specific shade through a conventional choice. Once this choice is made, the term refers to the sensation rather than its components; these components help with memory, whether the connection is natural as in ‘apple-green’ or arbitrary as in ‘French grey.’ To benefit from technical terms like these, they must be linked immediately to the perception they represent, rather than through the ambiguous usages of everyday language. Memory must retain the sensation, and the technical term should be understood as directly as the most common word, but even more clearly. When we encounter terms like tin-white or pinchbeck-brown, the metallic color they refer to should come to mind without delay or difficulty. 315
This, which it is most important to recollect with respect to the simpler properties of bodies, as colour and form, is no less true with respect to more compound notions. In all cases the term is fixed to a peculiar meaning by convention; and the student, in order to use the word, must be completely familiar with the convention, so that he has no need to frame conjectures from the word itself. Such conjectures would always be insecure, and often erroneous. Thus the term papilionaceous, applied to a flower, is employed to indicate, not only a resemblance to a butterfly, but a resemblance arising from five petals of a certain peculiar shape and arrangement; and even if the resemblance to a butterfly were much stronger than it is in such cases, yet if it were produced in a different way, as, for example, by one petal, or two only, instead of a ‘standard,’ two ‘wings,’ and a ‘keel’ consisting of two parts more or less united into one, we should no longer be justified in speaking of it as a ‘papilionaceous’ flower.
This, which is very important to remember about the simpler properties of things like color and shape, also applies to more complex ideas. In every case, the term is defined by a specific meaning through agreement; and for the student to use the word correctly, they must fully understand this agreement, so they don't have to guess based on the word itself. Such guesses would always be uncertain and often wrong. For example, the term papilionaceous when used to describe a flower refers not just to a similarity to a butterfly, but to a similarity based on five petals arranged in a specific way. Even if the resemblance to a butterfly were much stronger, if it were formed differently, like having just one petal or two instead of a 'standard,' two 'wings,' and a 'keel' made from two parts more or less joined together, we wouldn't be able to call it a 'papilionaceous' flower anymore.
The formation of an exact and extensive descriptive language for botany has been executed with a degree of skill and felicity, which, before it was attained, could hardly have been dreamt of as attainable. Every part of a plant has been named; and the form of every part, even the most minute, has had a large assemblage of descriptive terms appropriated to it, by means of which the botanist can convey and receive knowledge of form and structure, as exactly as if each minute part were presented to him vastly magnified. This acquisition was part of the Linnæan Reform, of which we have spoken in the History. ‘Tournefort,’ says De Candolle50, ‘appears to have been the first who really perceived the utility of fixing the sense of terms in such a way as always to employ the same word in the same sense, and always to express the same idea by the same word; but it was Linnæus who really created and fixed this botanical language, and this is his fairest claim to glory, for by this fixation of language he has shed clearness and precision over all parts of the science.’
The creation of a precise and detailed descriptive language for botany has been accomplished with such skill and success that it was once hard to imagine it being possible. Every part of a plant has been named, and there are numerous descriptive terms for the shape of every part, even the tiniest ones. This allows botanists to share and understand information about form and structure as if every tiny detail were shown to them greatly enlarged. This development was part of the Linnæan Reform mentioned in the History. ‘Tournefort,’ says De Candolle50, ‘seems to be the first who truly recognized the importance of defining terms consistently, using the same word to convey the same meaning every time. However, it was Linnæus who truly established and secured this botanical language, which is his greatest legacy, because his standardization of language has brought clarity and precision to all areas of the science.’
It is not necessary here to give any detailed account of the terms of botany. The fundamental ones have been gradually introduced, as the parts of plants were more carefully and minutely examined. Thus the flower was successively distinguished into the calyx, the corolla, the stamens, and the pistils: the sections of the corolla were termed petals by Columna; those of the calyx were called sepals by Necker51. Sometimes terms of greater generality were devised; as perianth to include the calyx and corolla, whether one or both of these were present52; pericarp for the part inclosing the grain, of whatever kind it be, fruit, nut, pod, &c. And it may easily be imagined that descriptive terms may, by definition and combination, become very numerous and distinct. Thus leaves may be called pinnatifid53, pinnnatipartite, pinnatisect, pinnatilobate, palmatifid, palmatipartite, &c., and each of these words designates different combinations of the modes and extent of the divisions of the leaf with the divisions of its outline. In some cases arbitrary numerical relations are introduced into the definition: thus a leaf is called bilobate54 when it is divided into two parts by a notch; but if the notch go to the middle of its length, it is bifid; if it go near the base of the leaf, it is bipartite; if to the base, it is bisect. Thus, too, a pod of a cruciferous plant is a silica55 if it be four times as long as it is broad, but if it be shorter than this it is a silicula. Such terms being established, the form of the very complex leaf or frond of a fern is exactly conveyed, for example, by the following phrase: ‘fronds rigid pinnate, pinnæ recurved subunilateral pinnatifid, the segments linear undivided or bifid spinuloso-serrate56.’
It is not necessary to provide a detailed explanation of botanical terms here. The basic ones have been gradually introduced as the parts of plants were examined more closely. The flower was progressively identified as the calyx, the corolla, the stamens, and the pistils: the sections of the corolla were called petals by Columna; those of the calyx were named sepals by Necker51. Sometimes broader terms were created, like perianth to encompass the calyx and corolla, whether one or both were present52; pericarp for the part enclosing the seed, regardless of whether it is a fruit, nut, pod, etc. It's easy to see how descriptive terms can, through definition and combination, become very numerous and specific. For example, leaves can be described as pinnatifid53, pinnatipartite, pinnatisect, pinnatilobate, palmatifid, palmatipartite, and more, with each term indicating different combinations of the ways and extent of the divisions of the leaf along with the divisions of its outline. In some instances, arbitrary numerical relationships are introduced in the definitions: a leaf is referred to as bilobate54 when it is split into two parts by a notch; if the notch reaches the middle of the length, it is bifid; if it goes near the base of the leaf, it is bipartite; and if it reaches the base, it is bisect. Similarly, a pod of a cruciferous plant is called a silica55 if it is four times as long as it is wide, but if it is shorter than that, it is a silicula. With these terms established, the shape of the very complex leaf or frond of a fern can be precisely described, as shown by the phrase: 'fronds rigid pinnate, pinnæ recurved subunilateral pinnatifid, the segments linear undivided or bifid spinuloso-serrate56.'
Other characters, as well as form, are conveyed with the like precision: Colour by means of a classified scale of colours, as we have seen in speaking of the Measures 317 of Secondary Qualities; to which, however, we must add, that the naturalist employs arbitrary names, (such as we have already quoted,) and not mere numerical exponents, to indicate a certain number of selected colours. This was done with most precision by Werner, and his scale of colours is still the most usual standard of naturalists. Werner also introduced a more exact terminology with regard to other characters which are important in mineralogy, as lustre, hardness. But Mohs improved upon this step by giving a numerical scale of hardness, in which talc is 1, gypsum, 2, calc spar 3, and so on, as we have already explained in the History of Mineralogy. Some properties, as specific gravity, by their definition give at once a numerical measure; and others, as crystalline form, require a very considerable array of mathematical calculation and reasoning, to point out their relations and gradations. In all cases the features of likeness in the objects must be rightly apprehended, in order to their being expressed by a distinct terminology. Thus no terms could describe crystals for any purpose of natural history, till it was discovered that in a class of minerals the proportion of the faces might vary, while the angle remained the same. Nor could crystals be described so as to distinguish species, till it was found that the derived and primitive forms are connected by very simple relations of space and number. The discovery of the mode in which characters must be apprehended so that they may be considered as fixed for a class, is an important step in the progress of each branch of Natural History; and hence we have had, in the History of Mineralogy and Botany, to distinguish as important and eminent persons those who made such discoveries, Romé de Lisle and Haüy, Cæsalpinus and Gesner.
Other characters, along with form, are conveyed with the same precision: Color is represented using a classified scale, as we discussed in reference to the Measures 317 of Secondary Qualities. However, we must add that naturalists use arbitrary names (like the ones we've mentioned) instead of just numerical values to indicate a specific selection of colors. Werner did this with the highest accuracy, and his color scale remains the most commonly used standard among naturalists. He also introduced a more precise terminology for other important characteristics in mineralogy, such as luster and hardness. But Mohs built on this by creating a numerical hardness scale, where talc is 1, gypsum is 2, calc spar is 3, and so forth, as we previously explained in the History of Mineralogy. Some properties, like specific gravity, immediately provide a numerical measure through their definitions, while others, like crystalline form, require extensive mathematical calculations and reasoning to clarify their relationships and variations. In all cases, the similarities among objects must be clearly understood in order to be expressed with a distinct terminology. Thus, no terms could effectively describe crystals for natural history until it was realized that in a certain class of minerals, the proportions of the faces could vary while the angles stayed constant. Additionally, crystals couldn't be adequately described to differentiate species until it was discovered that the derived and primitive forms are connected by very simple spatial and numerical relationships. Understanding how characteristics must be grasped to be considered as fixed for a class is a significant step in the advancement of each branch of Natural History. Consequently, we've noted in the History of Mineralogy and Botany the importance of those who made such discoveries, including Romé de Lisle, Haüy, Cæsalpinus, and Gesner.
By the continued progress of that knowledge of minerals, plants, and other natural objects, in which such persons made the most distinct and marked steps, but which has been constantly advancing in a more gradual and imperceptible manner, the most important and essential features of similarity and dissimilarity in such objects have been selected, arranged, and fitted with 318 names; and we have thus in such departments, systems of Terminology which fix our attention upon the resemblances which it is proper to consider, and enable us to convey them in words.
As knowledge about minerals, plants, and other natural objects has progressed, with some individuals making clear and significant advancements while others have contributed to a more gradual and subtle evolution, the key similarities and differences among these objects have been identified, organized, and labeled with 318 names. This has led to the creation of terminology systems in these fields that highlight the relevant similarities and allow us to articulate them effectively.
The following Aphorisms respect the Form of Technical Terms.
The following sayings follow the structure of technical terms.
By the Form of terms, I mean their philological conditions; as, for example, from what languages they may be borrowed, by what modes of inflexion they must be compounded, how their derivatives are to be formed, and the like. In this, as in other parts of the subject, I shall not lay down a system of rules, but shall propose a few maxims.
By the Form of terms, I mean their linguistic conditions; for instance, which languages they can be borrowed from, how they should be inflected, how to create their derivatives, and so on. In this area, as in other parts of the topic, I won’t establish a strict set of rules, but I'll suggest a few guiding principles.
Aphorism XX.
Aphorism XX.
The two main conditions of the Form of technical terms are, that they must be generally intelligible, and susceptible of such grammatical relations as their scientific use requires.
The two main conditions for technical terms are that they must be generally understandable and able to form the grammatical relationships needed for their scientific use.
These conditions may at first appear somewhat vague, but it will be found that they are as definite as we could make them, without injuriously restricting ourselves. It will appear, moreover, that they have an important bearing upon most of the questions respecting the form of the words which come before us; and that if we can succeed in any case in reconciling the two conditions, we obtain terms which are practically good, whatever objections may be urged against them from other considerations.
These conditions might seem a bit unclear at first, but they're actually as precise as we can make them without limiting ourselves too much. Additionally, you'll see that they are significant for most of the questions regarding the wording we encounter. If we can manage to reconcile the two conditions in any situation, we can come up with terms that are essentially solid, regardless of any objections raised from other perspectives.
1. The former condition, for instance, bears upon the question whether scientific terms are to be taken from the learned languages, Greek and Latin, or from our own. And the latter condition very materially affects the same question, since in English we have scarcely any power of inflecting our words; and therefore must have recourse to Greek or Latin in order to obtain terms which admit of grammatical modification. If we were content with the term Heat, to express the science of heat, still it would be a bad technical term, for we cannot derive from it an adjective like 319 thermotical. If bed or layer were an equally good term with stratum, we must still retain the latter, in order that we may use the derivative Stratification, for which the English words cannot produce an equivalent substitute. We may retain the words lime and flint, but their adjectives for scientific purposes are not limy and flinty, but calcareous and siliceous; and hence we are able to form a compound, as calcareo-siliceous, which we could not do with indigenous words. We might fix the phrases bent back and broken to mean (of optical rays) that they are reflected and refracted; but then we should have no means of speaking of the angles of Reflection and Refraction, of the Refractive Indices, and the like.
1. The previous condition, for example, relates to whether scientific terms should come from the classical languages, Greek and Latin, or from our own language. The latter condition significantly impacts this question because in English, we have very little ability to change our words, so we need to use Greek or Latin to find terms that can be grammatically modified. If we were satisfied with the term Heat to represent the science of heat, it would still be an inadequate technical term since we can't derive an adjective from it like 319 thermotical. Even if bed or layer were equally good as stratum, we would still need to keep the latter so we can use the derivative Stratification, for which there’s no equivalent in English. We can keep the words lime and flint, but for scientific purposes, their adjectives aren't limy and flinty; they are calcareous and siliceous. Thus, we can create a compound term like calcareo-siliceous, which we couldn't do with native words. We might establish the phrases bent back and broken to describe (of optical rays) how they are reflected and refracted, but then we wouldn’t have a way to talk about the angles of Reflection and Refraction, the Refractive Indices, and similar concepts.
In like manner, so long as anatomists described certain parts of a vertebra as vertebral laminæ, or vertebral plates, they had no adjective whereby to signify the properties of these parts; the term Neurapophysis, given to them by Mr. Owen, supplies the corresponding expression neurapophysial. So again, the term Basisphenoid, employed by the same anatomist, is better than basilar or basial process of the sphenoid, because it gives us the adjective basisphenoidal. And the like remark applies to other changes recently proposed in the names of portions of the skeleton.
Similarly, as long as anatomists referred to certain parts of a vertebra as vertebral laminæ or vertebral plates, they lacked an adjective to describe the properties of these parts; the term Neurapophysis, coined by Mr. Owen, provides the corresponding adjective neurapophysial. Likewise, the term Basisphenoid, used by the same anatomist, is preferable to basilar or basial process of the sphenoid, because it gives us the adjective basisphenoidal. The same observation holds true for other recent changes proposed in the names of parts of the skeleton.
Thus one of the advantages of going to the Greek and Latin languages for the origin of our scientific terms is, that in this way we obtain words which admit of the formation of adjectives and abstract terms, and of composition, and of other inflexions. Another advantage of such an origin is, that such terms, if well selected, are readily understood over the whole lettered world. For this reason, the descriptive language of science, of botany for instance, has been, for the most part, taken from the Latin; many of the terms of the mathematical and chemical sciences have been derived from the Greek; and when occasion occurs to construct a new term, it is generally to that language that recourse is had. The advantage of such terms is, as has already been intimated, that they constitute an universal language, by means of which 320 cultivated persons in every country may convey to each other their ideas without the need of translation.
One of the benefits of using Greek and Latin for our scientific terms is that these languages provide words that can easily form adjectives, abstract terms, and other variations. Another benefit is that if chosen carefully, these terms are understood globally among educated people. That's why much of the descriptive language in science, like botany, comes from Latin; many terms in mathematics and chemistry are derived from Greek. When there's a need to create a new term, we typically turn to these languages. The advantage of such terms, as mentioned before, is that they create a universal language, allowing educated individuals in different countries to share their ideas without needing translation.
On the other hand, the advantage of indigenous terms is, that so far as the language extends, they are intelligible much more clearly and vividly than those borrowed from any other source, as well as more easily manageable in the construction of sentences. In the descriptive language of botany, for example, in an English work, the terms drooping, nodding, one-sided, twining, straggling, appear better than cernuous, nutant, secund, volubile, divaricate. For though the latter terms may by habit become as intelligible as the former, they cannot become more so to any readers; and to most English readers they will give a far less distinct impression.
On the other hand, the benefit of using indigenous terms is that, as far as the language goes, they are much clearer and more vivid than those borrowed from other sources, and they are easier to use when constructing sentences. In the descriptive language of botany, for instance, in an English text, the terms drooping, nodding, one-sided, twining, and straggling are more effective than cernuous, nutant, secund, volubile, and divaricate. Although the latter terms may become as understandable as the former through repeated usage, they won't become more so for any readers; and for most English readers, they will create a much less clear impression.
2. Since the advantage of indigenous over learned terms, or the contrary, depends upon the balance of the capacity of inflexion and composition on the one hand, against a ready and clear significance on the other, it is evident that the employment of scientific terms of the one class or of the other may very properly be extremely different in different languages. The German possesses in a very eminent degree that power of composition and derivation, which in English can hardly be exercised at all, in a formal manner. Hence German scientific writers use native terms to a far greater extent than do our own authors. The descriptive terminology of botany, and even the systematic nomenclature of chemistry, are represented by the Germans by means of German roots and inflexions. Thus the description of Potentilla anserina, in English botanists, is that it has Leaves interruptedly pinnate, serrate, silky, stem creeping, stalks axilllar, one-flowered. Here we have words of Saxon and Latin origin mingled pretty equally. But the German description is entirely Teutonic. Die Blume in Achsel; die Blätter unterbrochen gefiedert, die Blättchen scharf gesagt, die Stämme kriechend, die Bluthenstiele einblumig. We could imitate this in our own language, by saying brokenly-feathered, sharp-sawed; by using threed for ternate, as the Germans employ gedreit; by saying 321 fingered-feathered for digitato-pinnate, and the like. But the habit which we have, in common as well as scientific language, of borrowing words from the Latin for new cases, would make such usages seem very harsh and pedantic.
2. The advantage of using native terms versus learned ones depends on how well a language can inflect and create new words versus how clear and straightforward a term is. It's clear that using scientific terms from one category or the other can vary significantly between languages. German has a remarkable ability to create and derive words in a way that’s not really possible in English formally. As a result, German scientific writers rely on native terms much more than English authors do. For example, in botany and chemistry, Germans use German roots and inflections extensively. When English botanists describe Potentilla anserina, they say it has Leaves interruptedly pinnate, serrate, silky, stem creeping, stalks axillary, one-flowered. These descriptions mix Saxon and Latin words rather equally. In contrast, the German description is entirely Teutonic: Die Blume in Achsel; die Blätter unterbrochen gefiedert, die Blättchen scharf gesagt, die Stämme kriechend, die Bluthenstiele einblumig. We could mimic this in English by saying brokenly-feathered, sharp-sawed; by using threed for ternate, similar to how Germans use gedreit; or term it 321 as fingered-feathered for digitato-pinnate, and so on. However, our tendency to borrow words from Latin for new concepts in both casual and scientific language would make such phrases sound awkward and overly formal.
We may add that, in consequence of these different practices in the two languages, it is a common habit of the German reader to impose a scientific definiteness upon a common word, such as our Fifth Aphorism requires; whereas the English reader expects rather that a word which is to have a technical sense shall be derived from the learned languages. Die Kelch and die Blume (the cup and the flower) easily assume the technical meaning of calyx and corolla; die Griffel (the pencil) becomes the pistil; and a name is easily found for the pollen, the anthers, and the stamens, by calling them the dust, the dust-cases, and the dust-threads (der Staub, die Staub-beutel, or Staub-fächer, and die Staub-fäden), This was formerly done in English to a greater extent than is now possible without confusion and pedantry. Thus, in Grew’s book on the Anatomy of Plants, the calyx is called the impalement, and the sepals the impalers; the petals are called the leaves of the flower; the stamens with their anthers are the seminiform attire. But the English language, as to such matters, is now less flexible than it was; partly in consequence of its having adopted the Linnæan terminology almost entire, without any endeavour to naturalize it. Any attempt at idiomatic description would interfere with the scientific language now generally received in this country. In Germany, on the other hand, those who first wrote upon science in their own language imitated the Latin words which they found in foreign writers, instead of transferring new roots into their own language. Thus the Numerator and Denominator of a fraction they call the Namer and the Counter (Nenner and Zähler). This course they pursued even where the expression was erroneous. Thus that portion of the intestines which ancient anatomists called Duodenum, because they falsely estimated its length at twelve inches, the 322 Germans also term Zwölffingerdarm (twelve-inch-gut), though this intestine in a whale is twenty feet long, and in a frog not above twenty lines. As another example of this process in German, we may take the word Muttersackbauchblatte, the uterine peritonæum.
We can add that, because of these different practices in the two languages, it's common for German readers to give a scientific precision to a common word, like our Fifth Aphorism requires; while English readers expect that a word meant to have a technical meaning should come from the learned languages. Die Kelch and die Blume (the cup and the flower) easily take on the technical meanings of calyx and corolla; die Griffel (the pencil) becomes the pistil; and names are easily found for pollen, anthers, and stamens, calling them the dust, the dust-cases, and the dust-threads (der Staub, die Staub-beutel, or Staub-fächer, and die Staub-fäden). This used to be done more in English than is now possible without confusion and pedantry. For instance, in Grew’s book on the Anatomy of Plants, the calyx is called impalement, and the sepals are the impalers; the petals are referred to as the leaves of the flower; and the stamens with their anthers are described as the seminiform attire. However, the English language is now less flexible in this regard, partly due to having largely adopted the Linnæan terminology without any effort to make it more natural. Any attempt at idiomatic description would clash with the scientific language now generally accepted in this country. In Germany, on the other hand, those who first wrote about science in their own language imitated the Latin terms they found in foreign writings instead of bringing new roots into their language. Therefore, they call the Numerator and Denominator of a fraction Namer and Counter (Nenner and Zähler). They continued this approach even when the expression was incorrect. For example, that part of the intestines referred to as Duodenum by ancient anatomists, mistakenly believing its length was twelve inches, is also termed Zwölffingerdarm (twelve-inch-gut) by Germans, even though this intestine in a whale is twenty feet long, and in a frog, only about twenty lines. As another example of this trend in German, we can look at the word Muttersackbauchblatte, which means uterine peritonæum.
It is a remarkable evidence of this formative power of the German language, that it should have been able to produce an imitation of the systematic chemical nomenclature of the French school, so complete, that it is used in Germany as familiarly as the original system is in France and England. Thus Oxygen and Hydrogen are Sauerstoff and Wasserstoff; Azote is Stickstoff (suffocating matter); Sulphuric and Sulphurous Acid are Schwefel-säure and Schwefelichte-säure. The Sulphate and Sulphite of Baryta, and Sulphuret of Baryum, are Schwefel-säure Baryterde, Schwefelichte-säure Baryterde, and Schwefel-baryum. Carbonate of Iron is Kohlen-säures Eisenoxydul; and we may observe that, in such cases, the German name is much more agreeable to analogy than the English one; for the Protoxide of Iron, (Eisenoxydul,) and not the Iron itself, is the base of the salt. And the German language has not only thus imitated the established nomenclature of chemistry, but has shown itself capable of supplying new forms to meet the demands which the progress of theory occasions. Thus the Hydracids are Wasserstoff-säuren; and of these, the Hydriodic Acid is Iodwasserstoff-säure, and so of the rest. In like manner, the translator of Berzelius has found German names for the sulpho-salts of that chemist; thus he has Wasserstoffschwefliges Schewefellithium, which would be (if we were to adopt his theoretical view) hydro-sulphuret of sulphuret of lithium: and a like nomenclature for all other similar cases.
It’s an impressive demonstration of the German language’s formative power that it has created a version of the systematic chemical naming convention from the French school that is so complete it’s used in Germany just as casually as the original system is in France and England. For example, Oxygen and Hydrogen are Sauerstoff and Hydrogen; Azote is Stickstoff (suffocating matter); Sulphuric and Sulphurous Acid are Schwefel-säure and Schwefelichte-säure. The Sulphate and Sulphite of Baryta, along with Sulphuret of Baryum, are Schwefel-säure Baryterde, Schwefelichte-säure Baryterde, and Schwefel-baryum. Carbonate of Iron is Kohlen-säures Eisenoxydul; and it’s interesting to note that in these cases, the German name aligns better with analogy than the English term does; for the Protoxide of Iron, (Eisenoxydul), and not the Iron itself, is the base of the salt. The German language has not only replicated the established chemical nomenclature but has also demonstrated the ability to create new terms to address the needs arising from advancements in theory. For instance, the Hydracids are Wasserstoff-säuren; among these, the Hydriodic Acid is Iodwasserstoff-säure, and this pattern continues for others. Similarly, the translator of Berzelius has found German names for the sulpho-salts of that chemist; for example, he has Wasserstoffschwefliges Schewefellithium, which would be (if we were to adopt his theoretical perspective) hydro-sulphuret of sulphuret of lithium: and he uses a similar naming pattern for all comparable cases.
3. In English we have no power of imitating this process, and must take our technical phrases from some more flexible language, and generally from the Latin or Greek. We are indeed so much accustomed to do this, that except a word has its origin in one of these languages, it hardly seems to us a technical 323 term; and thus by employing indigenous terms, even descriptive ones, we may, perhaps, lose in precision more than we gain in the vividness of the impression. Perhaps it may be better to say cuneate, lunate, hastate, sagittate, reniform, than wedge-shaped, crescent-shaped, halbert-headed, arrow-headed, kidney-shaped. Ringent and personate are better than any English words which we could substitute for them; labiate is more precise than lipped would readily become. Urceolate, trochlear, are more compact than pitcher-shaped, pulley-shaped; and infundibuliform, hypocrateriform, though long words, are not more inconvenient than funnel-shaped and salver-shaped. In the same way it is better to speak (with Dr. Prichard57,) of repent and progressive animals, than of creeping and progressive: the two Latin terms make a better pair of correlatives.
3. In English, we can't replicate this process and have to borrow our technical terms from more flexible languages, usually Latin or Greek. We’re so used to this that unless a word comes from one of those languages, it hardly feels like a technical term to us. By using native terms, even descriptive ones, we may end up being less precise than if we used the vividness of the original. It might be clearer to say cuneate, lunate, hastate, sagittate, reniform rather than wedge-shaped, crescent-shaped, halbert-headed, arrow-headed, kidney-shaped. Ringent and personate are preferable to any English alternatives we could find; labiate is more precise than lipped. Urceolate and trochlear are more concise than pitcher-shaped and pulley-shaped; and even though infundibuliform and hypocrateriform are long, they’re not less convenient than funnel-shaped and salver-shaped. Similarly, it’s better to refer to repent and progressive animals than creeping and progressive; the two Latin terms work better as a pair of correlatives.
4. But wherever we may draw the line between the proper use of English and Latin terms in descriptive phraseology, we shall find it advisable to borrow almost all other technical terms from the learned languages. We have seen this in considering the new terms introduced into various sciences in virtue of our Ninth Maxim. We may add, as further examples, the names of the various animals of which a knowledge has been acquired from the remains of them which exist in various strata, and which have been reconstructed by Cuvier and his successors. Such are the Palæotherium, the Anoplotherium, the Megatherium, the Dinotherium, the Chirotherium, the Megalichthys, the Mastodon, the Ichthyosaurus, the Plesiosaurus, the Pterodactylus. To these others are every year added; as, for instance, very recently, the Toxodon, Zeuglodon, and Phascolotherium of Mr. Owen, and the Thylacotherium of M. Valenciennes. Still more recently the terms Glyptodon, Mylodon, Dicynodon, Paloplotherium, Rhynchosaurus, have been added by Mr. Owen to designate fossil animals newly determined by him. 324
4. But no matter where we decide to draw the line between the appropriate use of English and Latin terms in descriptive language, it’s a good idea to borrow almost all other technical terms from scholarly languages. We’ve seen this when looking at the new terms introduced into various sciences because of our Ninth Maxim. We can also add, as further examples, the names of the different animals we’ve learned about from the remains found in various layers of earth, which have been reconstructed by Cuvier and his successors. These include the Palæotherium, Anoplotherium, Megatherium, Dinotherium, Chirotherium, Megalichthys, Mastodon, Ichthyosaurus, Plesiosaurus, and Pterodactylus. Every year, more names are added, like the recently introduced Toxodon, Zeuglodon, and Phascolotherium by Mr. Owen, and the Thylacotherium by M. Valenciennes. Even more recently, Mr. Owen has added the terms Glyptodon, Mylodon, Dicynodon, Paloplotherium, and Rhynchosaurus to identify fossil animals he has newly classified. 324
The names of species, as well as of genera, are thus formed from the Greek: as the Plesiosaurus dolichodeirus (long-necked), Ichthyosaurus platyodon (broad-toothed), the Irish elk, termed Cervus megaceros (large-horned). But the descriptive specific names are also taken from the Latin, as Plesiosaurus brevirostris, longirostris, crassirostris; besides which there are arbitrary specific names, which we do not here consider.
The names of species and genera are formed from Greek, like Plesiosaurus dolichodeirus (long-necked), Ichthyosaurus platyodon (broad-toothed), and the Irish elk, called Cervus megaceros (large-horned). Descriptive specific names also come from Latin, such as Plesiosaurus brevirostris, longirostris, and crassirostris; in addition, there are arbitrary specific names that we won't discuss here.
These names being all constructed at a period when naturalists were familiar with an artificial system, the standard language of which is Latin, have not been taken from modern language. But the names of living animals, and even of their classes, long ago formed in the common language of men, have been in part adopted in the systems of naturalists, agreeably to Aphorism Third. Hence the language of systems in natural history is mixed of ancient and modern languages. Thus Cuvier’s divisions of the vertebrated animals are Mammifères (Latin), Oiseaux, Reptiles, Poissons; Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Carnassières, Rongeurs, Pachydermes (Greek), Ruminans (Latin), Cétacés (Latin). In the subordinate divisions the distribution being more novel, the names are less idiomatic: thus the kinds of Reptiles are Cheloniens, Sauriens, Ophidiens, Batraciens, all which are of Greek origin. In like manner. Fish are divided into Chondropterygiens, Malacopterygiens, Acanthopterygiens. The unvertebrated animals are Mollusques, Animaux articulés, and Animaux rayonnés; and the Mollusques are divided into six classes, chiefly according to the position or form of their foot; namely, Cephalopodes, Pteropodes, Gasteropodes, Acephales, Brachiopodes, Cirrhopodes.
These names were all created at a time when naturalists used an artificial system, primarily in Latin, which is why they aren’t from modern languages. However, names of living animals and their classes, which were established in the common language of people long ago, have been partially adopted by naturalists, according to Aphorism Third. Therefore, the language used in natural history systems mixes ancient and modern languages. For example, Cuvier’s classifications of vertebrate animals include Mammifères (Latin), Oiseaux, Reptiles, and Poissons; Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Carnassières, Rongeurs, Pachydermes (Greek), and Ruminans (Latin), Cétacés (Latin). In the more recent subdivisions, the names are less common: the types of Reptiles are Cheloniens, Sauriens, Ophidiens, and Batraciens, all of which are of Greek origin. Similarly, Fish are classified into Chondropterygiens, Malacopterygiens, and Acanthopterygiens. The invertebrate animals are Mollusques, Animaux articulés, and Animaux rayonnés; and Mollusques are divided into six classes, mainly based on the position or shape of their foot: Cephalopodes, Pteropodes, Gasteropodes, Acephales, Brachiopodes, and Cirrhopodes.
In transferring these terms into English, when the term is new in French as well as English, we have little difficulty; for we may take nearly the same liberties in English which are taken in French; and hence we may say mammifers (rather mammals), cetaceans or cetaces, batracians (rather batrachians), using the words as substantives. But in other cases we must go back to the Latin: thus we say radiate 325 animals, or radiata (rather radials), for rayonnés. These changes, however, rather refer to another Aphorism.
In translating these terms into English, when the term is new in both French and English, we have few challenges; we can take similar liberties in English as are taken in French. Therefore, we can use mammifers (instead of mammals), cetaceans or cetaces, batracians (rather batrachians), treating these terms as nouns. However, in other instances, we need to refer back to Latin: for example, we say radiate 325 animals, or radiata (rather radials), for rayonnés. These variations, though, relate more to another Aphorism.
(Mr. Kirby has proposed radiary, radiaries, for radiata.)
(Mr. Kirby has proposed radiary, radiaries, for radiata.)
5. When new Mineral Species have been established in recent times, they have generally had arbitrary names assigned to them, derived from some person or places. In some instances, however, descriptive names have been selected; and then these have been generally taken from the Greek, as Augite, Stilbite, Diaspore, Dichroite, Dioptase. Several of these Greek names imposed by Haüy, refer to some circumstances, often fancifully selected, in his view of the crystallization of the substance, as Epidote, Peridote, Pleonast. Similar terms of Greek origin have been introduced by others, as Orthite, Anorthite, Periklin. Greek names founded on casual circumstances are less to be commended. Berzelius has termed a mineral Eschynite from αἰσχυνὴ, shame, because it is, he conceives, a shame for chemists not to have separated its elements more distinctly than they did at first.
5. Recently established mineral species usually get arbitrary names based on people or places. However, some have been given descriptive names, often derived from Greek, such as Augite, Stilbite, Diaspore, Dichroite, and Dioptase. Many of these Greek names assigned by Haüy refer to circumstances that he fancifully believed influenced the crystallization of the substance, like Epidote, Peridote, and Pleonast. Others have introduced similar Greek terms, such as Orthite, Anorthite, and Periklin. Greek names based on random circumstances are less commendable. Berzelius named a mineral Eschynite from shame, shame, because he thought it was embarrassing for chemists not to have more clearly separated its elements than they initially did.
6. In Botany, the old names of genera of Greek origin are very numerous, and many of them are descriptive, as Glycyrhiza (γλυκὺς and ῥιζα, sweet root) liquorice, Rhododendron (rose-tree), Hæmatoxylon (bloody wood), Chrysocoma (golden hair), Alopecurus (fox-tail), and many more. In like manner there are names which derive a descriptive significance from the Latin, either adjectives, as Impatiens, Gloriosa, Sagittaria, or substantives irregularly formed, as Tussilago (à tussis domatione), Urtica (ab urendo tactu), Salsola (à salsedine). But these, though good names when they are established by tradition, are hardly to be imitated in naming new plants. In most instances, when this is to be done, arbitrary or local names have been selected, as Strelitzia.
6. In Botany, there are many old genus names of Greek origin, and a lot of them are descriptive, like Glycyrhiza (sweet and ῥιζα, sweet root) for liquorice, Rhododendron (rose-tree), Hæmatoxylon (bloody wood), Chrysocoma (golden hair), Alopecurus (fox-tail), and many others. Similarly, there are names that get their descriptive meaning from Latin, either adjectives like Impatiens, Gloriosa, Sagittaria, or irregularly formed nouns like Tussilago (from the suppression of cough), Urtica (from burning on contact), Salsola (from saltiness). However, while these are established names through tradition, they are not easy to replicate when naming new plants. In most cases, arbitrary or local names have been chosen, such as Strelitzia.
7. In Chemistry, new substances have of late had names assigned them from Greek roots, as Iodine, from its violet colour, Chlorine from its green colour. In like manner fluorine has by the French chemists been called Phthor, from its destructive properties. So the 326 new metals, Chrome, Rhodium, Iridium, Osmium, had names of Greek derivation descriptive of their properties. Some such terms, however, were borrowed from localities, as Strontia, Yttria, the names of new earths. Others have a mixed origin, as Pyrogallic, Pyroacetic, and Pyroligneous Spirit. In some cases the derivation has been extravagantly capricious. Thus in the process for making Pyrogallic Acid, a certain substance is left behind, from which M. Braconnot extracted an acid which he called Ellagic Acid, framing the root of the name by reading the word Galle backwards.
7. In Chemistry, new substances have recently been named using Greek roots, like Iodine, derived from its violet color, and Chlorine, from its green color. Similarly, French chemists have named fluorine Phthor, reflecting its destructive properties. The new metals, such as Chrome, Rhodium, Iridium, and Osmium, also have names derived from Greek that describe their properties. Some terms, however, were borrowed from specific locations, like Strontia and Yttria, which are names of new earth materials. Others have a mixed origin, such as Pyrogallic, Pyroacetic, and Pyroligneous Spirit. In certain cases, the derivation has been quite whimsical. For instance, during the process of making Pyrogallic Acid, a certain substance is left behind, from which M. Braconnot extracted an acid he named Ellagic Acid, creating the name by reading the word Galle backwards.
The new laws which the study of Electro-chemistry brought into view, required a new terminology to express their conditions: and in this case, as we have observed in speaking of the Twelfth Maxim, arbitrary words are less suitable. Mr. Faraday very properly borrowed from the Greek his terms Electrolyte, Electrode, Anode, Cathode, Anïon, Cathïon, Dielectric. In the mechanico-chemical and mechanical sciences, however, new terms are less copiously required than in the sciences of classification, and when they are needed, they are generally determined by analogy from existing terms. Thermo-electricity and Electro-dynamics were terms which very naturally offered themselves; Nobili’s thermo-multiplier, Snow Harris’s unit-jar, were almost equally obvious names. In such cases, it is generally possible to construct terms both compendious and descriptive, without introducing any new radical words.
The new laws that the study of electrochemistry revealed needed a new vocabulary to describe their conditions. In this situation, just like we noted when discussing the Twelfth Maxim, arbitrary terms are less effective. Mr. Faraday wisely borrowed from Greek for his terms Electrolyte, Electrode, Anode, Cathode, Anïon, Cathïon, and Dielectric. However, in the fields of mechanico-chemical and mechanical sciences, new terms are not as frequently required as in classification sciences, and when they are needed, they are usually derived by analogy from existing terms. Thermo-electricity and Electro-dynamics were quite naturally suggested; Nobili’s thermo-multiplier and Snow Harris’s unit-jar were similarly straightforward names. In these cases, it is generally possible to create terms that are both concise and descriptive without needing to introduce any new root words.
8. The subject of Crystallography has inevitably given rise to many new terms, since it brings under our notice a great number of new relations of a very definite but very complex form. Haüy attempted to find names for all the leading varieties of crystals, and for this purpose introduced a great number of new terms, founded on various analogies and allusions. Thus the forms of calc-spar are termed by him primitive, equiaxe, inverse, metastatique, contrastante, imitable, birhomboidale, prismatique, apophane, uniternaire, bisunitaire, dodécaèdre, contractée, dilatée, sexduodecimale, bisalterne, binoternaire, and many others. The 327 want of uniformity in the origin and scheme of these denominations would be no valid objection to them, if any general truth could be expressed by means of them: but the fact is, that there is no definite distinction of these forms. They pass into each other by insensible gradations, and the optical and physical properties which they possess are common to all of them. And as a mere enunciation of laws of form, this terminology is insufficient. Thus it does not at all convey the relation between the bisalterne and the binoternaire, the former being a combination of the metastatique with the prismatique, the latter, of the metastatique with the contrastante: again, the contrastante, the mixte, the cuboide, the contractée, the dilatée, all contain faces generated by a common law, the index being respectively altered so as to be in these cases, 3, 3⁄2, 4⁄5, 9⁄4, 5⁄9; and this, which is the most important geometrical relation of these forms, is not at all recorded or indicated by the nomenclature. The fact is, that it is probably impossible, the subject of crystallography having become so complex as it now is, to devise a system of names which shall express the relations of form. Numerical symbols, such as those of Weiss or Naumann, or Professor Miller, are the proper ways of expressing these relations, and are the only good crystallographic terminology for cases in detail.
8. The topic of Crystallography has inevitably led to many new terms, as it introduces a wide range of new relationships that are both specific and quite complex. Haüy tried to create names for all the main types of crystals, and for this purpose, he introduced many new terms based on various analogies and references. For example, he named the forms of calc-spar primitive, equiaxe, inverse, metastatique, contrastante, imitable, birhomboidale, prismatique, apophane, uniternaire, bisunitaire, dodécaèdre, contractée, dilatée, sexduodecimale, bisalterne, binoternaire, and many others. The 327 lack of consistency in the origin and structure of these names would not be a valid criticism if any general truth could be conveyed through them: however, the reality is that there is no clear distinction among these forms. They transition into one another through subtle gradations, and the optical and physical properties they share are common to all. As a simple statement of the laws of form, this terminology falls short. It doesn't convey the relationship between bisalterne and binoternaire, with the former being a combination of metastatique and prismatique, while the latter is a mix of metastatique and contrastante: furthermore, the contrastante, mixte, cuboide, contractée, and dilatée all contain faces created by a common law, with the index being adjusted in these instances to 3, 3⁄2, 4/5, 9⁄4, 5⁄9; and this, which is the most important geometrical relationship of these forms, is not recorded or reflected in the nomenclature. In fact, it may be nearly impossible, given the complexity that crystallography has reached, to create a naming system that expresses the relationships of form. Numerical symbols, like those of Weiss or Naumann, or Professor Miller, are the most appropriate ways to express these relationships and represent the only effective crystallographic terminology for specific cases.
The terms used in expressing crystallographic laws have been for the most part taken from the Greek by all writers except some of the Germans. These, we have already stated, have constructed terms in their own language, as zwei-und-ein gliedrig, and the like.
The terms used to express crystallographic laws have mostly been borrowed from Greek by all writers, except for some Germans. We have already mentioned that they have created terms in their own language, like zwei-und-ein gliedrig, and similar ones.
In Optics we have some new terms connected with crystalline laws, as uniaxal and biaxal crystals, optical axes, which offered themselves without any effort on the part of the discoverers. In the whole history of the undulatory theory, very few innovations in language were found necessary, except to fix the sense of a few phrases, as plane-polarized light in opposition to circularly-polarized, and the like.
In optics, we've come across some new terms related to the laws of crystals, like uniaxial and biaxial crystals, and optical axes. These terms emerged effortlessly for the discoverers. Throughout the history of the wave theory, not many language updates were needed, except to clarify the meaning of a few phrases, such as plane-polarized light versus circularly-polarized light, and similar terms.
This is still more the case in Mechanics, Astronomy, 328 and pure mathematics. In these sciences, several of the primary stages of generalization being already passed over, when any new steps are made, we have before us some analogy by which we may frame our new terms. Thus when the plane of maximum areas was discovered, it had not some new arbitrary denomination assigned it, but the name which obviously described it was fixed as a technical name.
This is even more true in Mechanics, Astronomy, 328 and pure mathematics. In these fields, many of the initial stages of generalization have already been completed, so when any new advancements are made, we have an analogy to help us create our new terms. For example, when the plane of maximum areas was discovered, it wasn't given some random name; instead, the name that clearly described it was established as a technical term.
The result of this survey of the scientific terms of recent formation seems to be this;—that indigenous terms may be employed in the descriptions of facts and phenomena as they at first present themselves; and in the first induction from these; but that when we come to generalize and theorize, terms borrowed from the learned languages are more readily fixed and made definite, and are also more easily connected with derivatives. Our native terms are more impressive, and at first more intelligible; but they may wander from their scientific meaning, and are capable of little inflexion. Words of classical origin are precise to the careful student, and capable of expressing, by their inflexions, the relations of general ideas; but they are unintelligible, even to the learned man, without express definition, and convey instruction only through an artificial and rare habit of thought.
The outcome of this survey on recently developed scientific terms seems to be this: indigenous terms can be used to describe facts and phenomena as they first appear and in the initial conclusions drawn from them. However, when it comes to generalizing and theorizing, terms borrowed from learned languages tend to be more easily defined and connected with their derivatives. Our native terms are more striking and initially clearer, but they can lose their scientific meaning and are not very adaptable. Classical words are precise for attentive students and can express the relationships of general ideas through their variations; however, they can be confusing, even for knowledgeable individuals, without a clear definition and only communicate meaning through a specialized and less common way of thinking.
Since in the balance between words of domestic and of foreign origin so much depends upon the possibility of inflexion and derivation, I shall consider a little more closely what are the limits and considerations which we have to take into account in reference to that subject.
Since the balance between domestic and foreign words relies heavily on the potential for inflection and derivation, I will take a closer look at the limits and factors we need to consider regarding this topic.
Aphorism XXI.
Aphorism 21.
In the composition and inflexion of technical terms, philological analogies are to be preserved if possible, but modified according to scientific convenience.
When creating and adjusting technical terms, it's important to keep philological similarities when possible, but change them for the sake of scientific practicality.
In the language employed or proposed by writers upon subjects of science, many combinations and forms of derivation occur, which would be rejected and condemned by those who are careful of the purity and 329 correctness of language. Such anomalies are to be avoided as much as possible; but it is impossible to escape them altogether, if we are to have a scientific language which has any chance of being received into general use. It is better to admit compounds which are not philologically correct, than to invent many new words, all strange to the readers for whom they are intended: and in writing on science in our own language, it is not possible to avoid making additions to the vocabulary of common life; since science requires exact names for many things which common language has not named. And although these new names should, as much as possible, be constructed in conformity with the analogies of the language, such extensions of analogy can hardly sound, to the grammarian’s ear, otherwise than as solecisms. But, as our maxim indicates, the analogy of science is of more weight with us than the analogy of language: and although anomalies in our phraseology should be avoided as much as possible, innovations must be permitted wherever a scientific language, easy to acquire, and convenient to use, is unattainable without them.
In the language used or suggested by writers on scientific topics, many combinations and forms of derivation appear that would be rejected and criticized by those who care about the purity and 329 correctness of language. Such oddities should be avoided as much as possible, but it’s impossible to completely eliminate them if we want a scientific language that has a chance of being widely accepted. It’s better to allow compounds that aren’t philologically correct than to create a bunch of new words that will be unfamiliar to the intended readers. When writing about science in our own language, we can't avoid adding to the vocabulary of everyday life, since science needs specific names for many things that common language hasn’t labeled. And while these new names should be formed as closely as possible to the patterns of the language, such expansions might still sound like errors to a grammarian's ear. However, as our principle suggests, the logic of science is more important to us than the logic of language: and while we should try to minimize anomalies in our phrasing, we must allow for innovations wherever we can't achieve a scientific language that’s easy to learn and practical without them.
I shall proceed to mention some of the transgressions of strict philological rules, and some of the extensions of grammatical forms, which the above conditions appear to render necessary.
I will go ahead and mention some of the violations of strict language rules and some of the expansions of grammatical forms that the above conditions seem to require.
1. The combination of different languages in the derivation of words, though to be avoided in general, is in some cases admissible.
1. Mixing different languages in word formation, while generally to be avoided, is acceptable in some cases.
Such words are condemned by Quintilian and other grammarians, under the name of hybrids, or things of a mixed race; as biclinium from bis and κλίνη; epitogium, from ἐπὶ and toga. Nor are such terms to be unnecessarily introduced in science. Whenever a homogeneous word can be formed and adopted with the same ease and convenience as a hybrid, it is to be preferred. Hence we must have ichthyology, not piscology, entomology, not insectology, insectivorous, not insectophagous. In like manner, it would be better to say unoculus than monoculus, though the latter has the sanction of Linnæus, who was a purist in such matters. 330 Dr. Turner, in his Chemistry, speaks of protoxides and binoxides, which combination violates the rule for making the materials of our terms as homogeneous as possible; protoxide and deutoxide would be preferable, both on this and on other accounts.
Such words are criticized by Quintilian and other grammarians, calling them hybrids or things of mixed origins; like biclinium from bis and κλίνη; epitogium from ἐπὶ and toga. These terms shouldn't be used unnecessarily in science. Whenever a simple word can be created and used as easily and conveniently as a hybrid, it should be favored. Therefore, we should use ichthyology, not piscology; entomology, not insectology; insectivorous, not insectophagous. Similarly, it would be better to say unoculus than monoculus, even though the latter has the approval of Linnæus, who favored purity in such matters. 330 Dr. Turner, in his Chemistry, mentions protoxides and binoxides, which breaks the guideline for making our terms as uniform as possible; protoxide and deutoxide would be better for this reason and others.
Yet this rule admits of exceptions. Mineralogy, with its Greek termination, has for its root minera, a medieval Latin word of Teutonic origin, and is preferable to Oryctology. Terminology appears to be better than Glossology: which according to its derivation would be rather the science of language in general than of technical terms; and Horology, from ὅρος, a term, would not be immediately intelligible, even to Greek scholars; and is already employed to indicate the science which treats of horologes, or time-pieces.
Yet this rule has some exceptions. Mineralogy, with its Greek ending, comes from minera, a medieval Latin word of Teutonic origin, and is preferred over Oryctology. Terminology seems to be a better choice than Glossology, which based on its derivation, refers more to the science of language in general rather than just technical terms; and Horology, from term, a term, wouldn’t be easily understood, even by Greek scholars; and is already used to refer to the science that deals with horologes, or timepieces.
Indeed, the English reader is become quite familiar with the termination ology, the names of a large number of branches of science and learning having that form. This termination is at present rather apprehended as a formative affix in our own language, indicating a science, than as an element borrowed from foreign language. Hence, when it is difficult or impossible to find a Greek term which clearly designates the subject of a science, it is allowable to employ some other, as in Tidology, the doctrine of the Tides.
Indeed, the English reader has become quite familiar with the ending ology, as it appears in many branches of science and learning. This ending is now viewed more as a formative suffix in our own language that indicates a science, rather than as a borrowed element from foreign languages. Therefore, when it’s challenging or impossible to find a Greek term that clearly defines the subject of a science, it is acceptable to use another term, as in Tidology, the study of the tides.
The same remark applies to some other Greek elements of scientific words: they are so familiar to us that in composition they are almost used as part of our own language. This naturalization has taken place very decidedly in the element arch, (ἀρχὸς a leader,) as we see in archbishop, archduke. It is effected in a great degree for the preposition anti: thus we speak of anti-slavery societies, anti-reformers, anti-bilious, or anti-acid medicines, without being conscious of any anomaly. The same is the case with the Latin preposition præ or pre, as appears from such words as pre-engage, pre-arrange, pre-judge, pre-paid; and in some measure with pro, for in colloquial language we speak of pro-catholics and anti-catholics. Also the preposition ante is similarly used, as ante-nicene fathers. The preposition co, abbreviated from con, and 331 implying things to be simultaneous or connected, is firmly established as part of the language, as we see in coexist, coheir, coordinate; hence I have called those lines cotidal lines which pass through places where the high water of the tide occurs simultaneously.
The same observation applies to other Greek elements in scientific terminology: they are so familiar to us that when combined, they almost feel like part of our own language. This integration is especially clear with the element arch, (from Ruler, meaning a leader), as seen in archbishop and archduke. This also applies to the preposition anti: we refer to anti-slavery societies, anti-reformers, anti-bilious, or anti-acid medicines without realizing anything strange about it. The same goes for the Latin preposition præ or pre, seen in words like pre-engage, pre-arrange, pre-judge, pre-paid; and to some extent with pro, since in everyday speech we say pro-catholics and anti-catholics. Similarly, the preposition ante is used as in ante-nicene fathers. The preposition co, shortened from con, which indicates things happening at the same time or being connected, is now firmly part of our language, as seen in coexist, coheir, coordinate; thus I refer to those lines as cotidal lines that pass through locations where high tide occurs simultaneously.
2. As in the course of the mixture by which our language has been formed, we have thus lost all habitual consciousness of the difference of its ingredients, (Greek, Latin, Norman-French, and Anglo-Saxon): we have also ceased to confine to each ingredient the mode of grammatical inflexion which originally belonged to it. Thus the termination ive belongs peculiarly to Latin adjectives, yet we say sportive, talkative. In like manner, able is added to words which are not Latin, as eatable, drinkable, pitiable, enviable. Also the termination al and ical are used with various roots, as loyal, royal, farcical, whimsical; hence we may make the adjective tidal from tide. This ending, al, is also added to abstract terms in ion, as occasional, provisional, intentional, national; hence we may, if necessary, use such words as educational, terminational. The ending ic appears to be suited to proper names, as Pindaric, Socratic, Platonic; hence it may be used when scientific words are derived from proper names, as Voltaic or Galvanic electricity: to which I have proposed to add Franklinic.
2. Throughout the development of our language, we have lost all awareness of the different elements that make it up, (Greek, Latin, Norman-French, and Anglo-Saxon): we've also stopped associating the grammatical forms initially tied to each of these elements. For instance, the ending ive is typically associated with Latin adjectives, yet we use it in words like sportive and talkative. Similarly, able attaches to words that aren't Latin, like eatable, drinkable, pitiable, and enviable. The endings al and ical are also applied to various roots, such as loyal, royal, farcical, and whimsical; thus we can create the adjective tidal from tide. This ending, al, is also added to abstract terms ending in ion, like occasional, provisional, intentional, and national; therefore, we can also use terms like educational and terminational if needed. The ending ic seems suitable for proper names, as in Pindaric, Socratic, and Platonic; hence it can be applied when scientific terms are derived from proper names, like Voltaic or Galvanic electricity: which I have suggested to expand to Franklinic.
In adopting scientific adjectives from the Latin, we have not much room for hesitation; for, in such cases, the habits of derivation from that language into our own are very constant; ivus becomes ive, as decursive; inus becomes ine, as in ferine; atus becomes ate, as hastate; and us often becomes ous, as rufous; aris becomes ary, as axillary; ens becomes ent, as ringent. And in adopting into our language, as scientific terms, words which in another language, the French for instance, have a Latin origin familiar to us, we cannot do better than form them as if they were derived directly from the Latin. Hence the French adjectives cétacé, crustacé, testacé, may become either cetaceous, crustaceous, testaceous, according to the analogy of farinaceous, predaceous, or else cetacean, crustacean, 332 testacean, imitating the form of patrician. Since, as I shall soon have to notice, we require substantives as well as adjectives from these words, we must, at least for that use, take the forms last suggested.
In using scientific adjectives from Latin, there isn't much room for doubt; the way these words translate into our language is quite consistent. For example, ivus turns into ive, as in decursive; inus becomes ine, as in ferine; atus changes to ate, as in hastate; and us frequently becomes ous, as in rufous; aris becomes ary, as in axillary; and ens turns into ent, as in ringent. When we adopt words into our language as scientific terms that have a Latin origin familiar to us, like those from French, we do best by treating them as if they came directly from Latin. So, the French adjectives cétacé, crustacé, testacé can become either cetaceous, crustaceous, testaceous, following the pattern of farinaceous, predaceous, or cetacean, crustacean, 332 testacean, mimicking the form of patrician. Since, as I will soon mention, we need nouns as well as adjectives from these words, we must, at least for those purposes, use the latter forms.
In pursuance of the same remark, rongeur becomes rodent; and edenté would become edentate, but that this word is rejected on another account: the adjectives bimane and quadrumane are bimanous and quadrumanous.
In line with the same point, rongeur turns into rodent; and edenté would change to edentate, but this term is discarded for a different reason: the adjectives bimane and quadrumane are bimanous and quadrumanous.
3. There is not much difficulty in thus forming adjectives: but the purposes of Natural History require that we should have substantives corresponding to these adjectives; and these cannot be obtained without some extension of the analogies of our language. We cannot in general use adjectives or participles as singular substantives. The happy or the doomed would, according to good English usage, signify those who are happy and those who are doomed in the plural. Hence we could not speak of a particular scaled animal as the squamate, and still less could we call any such animal a squamate, or speak of squamates in the plural. Some of the forms of our adjectives, however, do admit of this substantive use. Thus we talk of Europeans, plebeians, republicans; of divines and masculines; of the ultramontanes; of mordants and brilliants; of abstergents and emollients; of mercenaries and tributaries; of animals, mammals, and officials; of dissuasives and motives. We cannot generally use in this way adjectives in ous, nor in ate (though reprobates is an exception), nor English participles, nor adjectives in which there is no termination imitating the Latin, as happy, good. Hence, if we have, for purposes of science, to convert adjectives into substantives, we ought to follow the form of examples like these, in which it has already appeared in fact, that such usage, though an innovation at first, may ultimately become a received part of the language.
3. It's not very difficult to form adjectives this way, but the needs of Natural History require us to have nouns that match these adjectives, and we can't get those without broadening the analogies in our language. Generally, we can't use adjectives or participles as singular nouns. The happy or the doomed would, according to proper English use, refer to those who are happy and those who are doomed in the plural. Therefore, we can't refer to a specific scaled animal as the squamate, and we definitely can't call any such animal a squamate or talk about squamates in the plural. However, some forms of our adjectives do allow for this noun usage. For example, we say Europeans, plebeians, republicans; divines and masculines; ultramontanes; mordants and brilliants; abstergents and emollients; mercenaries and tributaries; animals, mammals, and officials; dissuasives and motives. Generally, we can't use adjectives with ous or ate in this way (though reprobates is an exception), nor English participles, nor adjectives without a Latin-like ending, such as happy or good. So, if we need to convert adjectives into nouns for scientific purposes, we should follow the pattern of examples like these, where it's already been shown that such usage, even if it starts as an innovation, can ultimately become an accepted part of the language.
By attention to this rule we may judge what expressions to select in cases where substantives are needed. I will take as an example the division of the mammalian animals into Orders. These Orders, 333 according to Cuvier, are Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Carnassiers, Rongeurs, Edentés, Ruminants, Pachydermes, Cétacés; and of these, Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Rodents, Ruminants, Pachyderms are admissible as English substantives on the grounds just stated. Cetaceous could not be used substantively; but Cetacean in such a usage is sufficiently countenanced by such cases as we have mentioned, patrician, &c.; hence we adopt this form. We have no English word equivalent to the French Carnassiers: the English translator of Cuvier has not provided English words for his technical terms; but has formed a Latin word, Carnaria, to represent the French terms. From this we might readily form Carnaries; but it appears much better to take the Linnæan name Feræ as our root, from which we may take Ferine, substantive as well as adjective; and hence we call this order Ferines. The word for which it is most difficult to provide a proper representation is Edenté, Edentata: for, as we have said, it would be very harsh to speak of the order as the Edentates; and if we were to abbreviate the word into edent, we should suggest a false analogy with rodent, for as rodent is quod rodit, that which gnaws, edent would be quod edit, that which eats. And even if we were to take edent as a substantive, we could hardly use it as an adjective: we should still have to say, for example, the edentate form of head. For these reasons it appears best to alter the form of the word, and to call the Order the Edentals, which is quite allowable, both as adjective and substantive.
By following this rule, we can determine which terms to use when we need nouns. For example, let's look at how mammals are divided into Orders. According to Cuvier, these Orders are Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Carnassiers, Rongeurs, Edentés, Ruminants, and Pachydermes. Of these, Bimanes, Quadrumanes, Rodents, Ruminants, and Pachyderms are acceptable as English nouns for the reasons mentioned. Cetaceous can't be used as a noun, but we can use Cetacean in that way, supported by similar terms like patrician, etc.; so we adopt this form. There's no English equivalent for the French Carnassiers: the English translator of Cuvier didn't provide English terms for his technical language, instead creating a Latin term, Carnaria, to represent the French. From this, we could easily create Carnaries; however, it seems much better to use the Linnaean name Feræ as our basis, from which we can form Ferine, both as a noun and an adjective; thus, we refer to this order as Ferines. The hardest term to translate properly is Edenté, Edentata: as noted, saying the order as the Edentates sounds awkward; and if we shorten it to edent, it creates a misleading comparison with rodent, as rodent means quod rodit, that which gnaws, while edent would imply quod edit, that which eats. Even if we used edent as a noun, we couldn't easily use it as an adjective; we would still need to say, for example, the edentate form of head. For these reasons, it makes more sense to change the word and refer to the Order as Edentals, which works well as both an adjective and a noun.
[An objection might be made to this term, both in its Latin, French and English form: namely, that the natural group to which it is applied includes many species, both existing and extinct, well provided with teeth. Thus the armadillo is remarkable for the number of its teeth; the megatherium, for their complex structure. But the analogy of scientific language readily permits us to fix, upon the word edentata, a special meaning, implying the absence of one particular kind of teeth, namely, incisive teeth. Linnæus called the equivalent order Bruta. We could not 334 apply in this case the term Brutes; for common language has already attached to the word a wider meaning, too fixedly for scientific use to trifle with it.]
[Some people might object to this term in its Latin, French, and English forms: specifically, that the natural group it describes includes many species, both living and extinct, that have plenty of teeth. For instance, the armadillo is notable for the number of its teeth, while the megatherium is known for their intricate structure. However, the conventions of scientific language allow us to assign a specific meaning to the word edentata, which indicates the lack of one particular type of teeth, specifically incisive teeth. Linnæus referred to the equivalent order as Bruta. We cannot use the term Brutes in this context because common usage has already given the word a broader meaning that’s too established for scientific discourse to tamper with.]
There are several other words in ate about which there is the same difficulty in providing substantive forms. Are we to speak of Vertebrates? or would it not be better, in agreement with what has been said above, to call these Vertebrals, and the opposite class Invertebrals?
There are several other words in ate that have the same difficulty in providing substantial forms. Should we refer to Vertebrates? Or would it be better, in line with what has been mentioned above, to call them Vertebrals, with the opposite class being Invertebrals?
There are similar difficulties with regard to the names of subordinate portions of zoological classification; thus the Ferines are divided by Cuvier into Cheiroptéres, Insectivores, Carnivores; and these latter into Plantigrades, Digitigrades, Amphibies, Marsupiaux. There is not any great harshness in naturalizing these substantives as Chiropters, Insectivores, Carnivores, Plantigrades, Digitigrades, Amphibians, and Marsupials. These words Carnivores and Insectivores are better, because of more familiar origin, than Greek terms; otherwise we might, if necessary, speak of Zoophagans and Entomophagans.
There are similar challenges when it comes to the names of lower levels of animal classification; for instance, Cuvier divides the Ferines into Chiroptera, Insectivora, and Carnivora; and the last group into Plantigrade, Digitigrade, Amphibia, and Marsupialia. It’s not too difficult to adapt these terms to Chiropters, Insectivores, Carnivores, Plantigrades, Digitigrades, Amphibians, and Marsupials. The terms Carnivores and Insectivores are preferable since they come from more familiar roots compared to Greek terms; otherwise, we could, if needed, use Zoophagans and Entomophagans.
It is only with certain familiar adjectival terminations, as ous and ate, that there is a difficulty in using the word as substantive. When this can be avoided, we readily accept the new word, as Pachyderms, and in like manner Mollusks.
It’s only with certain familiar adjective endings, like ous and ate, that we have trouble using the word as a noun. When this can be avoided, we easily accept the new word, like Pachyderms, and similarly Mollusks.
If we examine the names of the Orders of Birds, we find that they are in Latin, Predatores or Accipitres, Passeres, Scansores, Rasores or Gallinæ, Grallatores, Palmipedes and Anseres: Cuvier’s Orders are, Oiseaux de Proie, Passereaux, Grimpeurs, Gallinacés, Échassiers, Palmipedes. These may be englished conveniently as Predators, Passerines, Scansors, Gallinaceans, (rather than Rasors,) Grallators, Palmipedans, [or rather Palmipeds, like Bipeds]. Scansors, Grallators, and Rasors, are better, as technical terms, than Climbers, Waders, and Scratchers. We might venture to anglicize the terminations of the names which Cuvier gives to the divisions of these Orders: thus the Predators are the Diurnals and the Nocturnals; the Passerines are the Dentirostres, the Fissirostres, the 335 Conirostres, the Tenuirostres, and the Syndactyls: the word lustre showing that the former termination is allowable. The Scansors are not sub-divided, nor are the Gallinaceans. The Grallators are Pressirostres, Cultrirostres, Macrodactyls. The Palmipeds are the Plungers, the Longipens, the Totipalmes and the Lamellirostres.
If we look at the names of the categories of birds, we see they're in Latin: Predatores or Accipitres, Passeres, Scansores, Rasores or Gallinæ, Grallatores, Palmipedes, and Anseres: Cuvier’s categories are Oiseaux de Proie, Passereaux, Grimpeurs, Gallinacés, Échassiers, Palmipedes. These can be conveniently translated as Predators, Passerines, Scansors, Gallinaceans, (rather than Rasors), Grallators, Palmipedans, [or rather Palmipeds, like Bipeds]. Scansors, Grallators, and Rasors are better as technical terms than Climbers, Waders, and Scratchers. We might try to anglicize the endings of the names that Cuvier uses for the divisions of these categories: thus, the Predators are the Diurnals and the Nocturnals; the Passerines include Dentirostres, Fissirostres, 335 Conirostres, Tenuirostres, and Syndactyls: the word lustre shows that the former ending is acceptable. The Scansors are not sub-divided, nor are the Gallinaceans. The Grallators are Pressirostres, Cultrirostres, Macrodactyls. The Palmipeds are the Plungers, the Longipens, the Totipalmes, and the Lamellirostres.
The next class of Vertebrals is the Reptiles, and these are either Chelonians, Saurians, Ophidians, or Batrachians. Cuvier writes Batraciens, but we prefer the spelling to which the Greek word directs us.
The next group of Vertebrates is the Reptiles, which are either Turtles, Lizards, Snakes, or Frogs. Cuvier writes Batraciens, but we prefer the spelling that aligns with the Greek word.
The last or lowest class is the Fishes, in which province Cuvier has himself been the great systematist, and has therefore had to devise many new terms. Many of these are of Greek or Latin origin, and can be anglicized by the analogies already pointed out, as Chondropterygians, Malacopterygians, Lophobranchs, Plectognaths, Gymnodonts, Scleroderms. Discoboles and Apodes may be English as well as French. There are other cases in which the author has formed the names of Families, either by forming a word in ides from the name of a genus, as Gadoides, Gobiöides, or by gallicizing the Latin name of the genus, as Salmones from Salmo, Clupes from Clupea, Ésoces from Esox, Cyprins from Cyprinus. In these cases Agassiz’s favourite form of names for families of fishes has led English writers to use the words Gadoids, Gobioids, Salmonoids, Clupeoids, Lucioids (for Ésoces), Cyprinoids, &c. There is a taint of hybridism in this termination, but it is attended with this advantage, that it has begun to be characteristic of the nomenclature of family groups in the class Pisces. One of the orders of fishes, co-ordinate with the Chondropterygians and the Lophobranchs, is termed Osseux by Cuvier. It appears hardly worth while to invent a substantive word for this, when Bony Fishes is so simple a phrase, and may readily be understood as a technical name of a systematic order.
The last or lowest class is the Fishes, where Cuvier has been the primary systematist and has had to come up with many new terms. Many of these terms are of Greek or Latin origin and can be anglicized by the analogies already mentioned, such as Chondropterygians, Malacopterygians, Lophobranchs, Plectognaths, Gymnodonts, and Scleroderms. Discoboles and Apodes can be considered English as well as French. There are other instances where the author has created family names either by adding ides to a genus name, like Gadoides, Gobiöides, or by adapting the Latin name of the genus, such as Salmones from Salmo, Clupes from Clupea, Ésoces from Esox, and Cyprins from Cyprinus. In these cases, Agassiz’s preferred naming convention for fish families has prompted English writers to use terms like Gadoids, Gobioids, Salmonoids, Clupeoids, Lucioids (for Ésoces), Cyprinoids, etc. There is a hint of hybridism in this naming convention, but it has the advantage of becoming characteristic of the nomenclature for family groups in the class Pisces. One of the fish orders, which is on the same level as the Chondropterygians and the Lophobranchs, is referred to as Osseux by Cuvier. It hardly seems worth creating a separate term for this when Bony Fishes is such a straightforward phrase and can easily be understood as a technical name for a systematic order.
The Mollusks are the next Class; and these are divided into Cephallopods, Gasteropods, and the like. The Gasteropods are Nudibranchs, Inferobranchs, 336 Tectibranchs, Pectinibranchs, Scutibranchs, and Cyclobranchs. In framing most of these terms Cuvier has made hybrids by a combination of a Latin word with branchiæ which is the Greek name for the gills of a fish; and has thus avoided loading the memory with words of an origin not obvious to most naturalists, as terms derived from the Greek would have been. Another division of the Gasteropods is Pulmonés, which we must make Pulmonians. In like manner the subdivisions of the Pectinibranchs are the Trochoidans and Buccinoidans, (Trochoïdes, Buccinoïdes). The Acéphales, another order of Mollusks, may be Acephals in English.
The Mollusks are the next class, and they're divided into Cephalopods, Gastropods, and others. The Gastropods include Nudibranchs, Inferobranchs, 336 Tectibranchs, Pectinibranchs, Scutibranchs, and Cyclobranchs. In creating most of these terms, Cuvier combined Latin words with branchiæ, the Greek word for fish gills, which helped avoid burdening the memory with terms of less obvious origins that would have come from Greek. Another category of the Gastropods is Pulmonés, which we will use as Pulmonians. Similarly, the subdivisions of the Pectinibranchs are the Trochoidans and Buccinoidans (Trochoïdes, Buccinoïdes). The Acéphales, another group of Mollusks, can be referred to as Acephals in English.
After these comes the third grand division, Articulated Animals, and these are Annelidans, Crustaceans, Arachnidans, and Insects. I shall not dwell upon the names of these, as the form of English words which is to be selected must be sufficiently obvious from the preceding examples.
After these comes the third main group, Articulated Animals, which includes Annelids, Crustaceans, Arachnids, and Insects. I won't go into detail about their names, as the choice of English terms should be clear enough from the previous examples.
Finally, we have the fourth grand division of animals, the Rayonnés, or Radiata; which, for reasons already given, we may call Radials, or Radiaries. These are Echinoderms, Intestinals, (or rather Entozoans,) Acalephes, and Polyps. The Polyps, which are composite animals in which many gelatinous individuals are connected so as to have a common life, have, in many cases, a more solid framework belonging to the common part of the animal. This framework, of which coral is a special example, is termed in French Polypier; the word has been anglicized by the word polypary, after the analogy of aviary and apiary. Thus Polyps are either Polyps with Polyparies or Naked Polyps.
Finally, we have the fourth major category of animals, the Rayonnés, or Radiata; which, for reasons mentioned earlier, we can call Radials, or Radiaries. These include Echinoderms, Intestinals (or more accurately Entozoans), Acalephes, and Polyps. The Polyps, which are composite creatures consisting of many gelatinous individuals connected to share a common life, often possess a more solid structure as part of the shared body. This structure, of which coral is a notable example, is called Polypier in French; the term has been anglicized to polypary, similar to aviary and apiary. Thus, Polyps are either Polyps with Polyparies or Naked Polyps.
Any common kind of Polyps has usually in the English language been called Polypus, the Greek termination being retained. This termination in us, however, whether Latin or Greek, is to be excluded from the English as much as possible, on account of the embarrassment which it occasions in the formation of the plural. For if we say Polypi the word ceases to be English, while Polypuses is harsh: and there is the additional inconvenience, that both these forms would indicate the plural of individuals rather than of classes. 337 If we were to say, ‘The Corallines are a Family of the Polypuses with Polyparies,’ it would not at once occur to the reader that the last three words formed a technical phrase.
Any common type of polyps has typically been called Polypus in English, keeping the Greek ending. However, this ending us, whether Latin or Greek, should be avoided in English as much as possible due to the confusion it causes when forming the plural. If we say Polypi, the word stops being English, while Polypuses sounds awkward. Additionally, both forms would imply the plural of individuals rather than classes. 337 If we were to say, ‘The Corallines are a family of the Polypuses with Polyparies,’ it wouldn’t immediately be clear to the reader that the last three words make up a technical term.
This termination us which must thus be excluded from the names of families, may be admitted in the designation of genera; of animals, as Nautilus, Echinus, Hippopotamus; and of plants, as Crocus, Asparagus, Narcissus, Acanthus, Ranunculus, Fungus. The same form occurs in other technical words, as Fucus, Mucus, Œsophagus, Hydrocephalus, Callus, Calculus, Uterus, Fœtus, Radius, Focus, Apparatus. It is, however, advisable to retain this form only in cases where it is already firmly established in the language; for a more genuine English form is preferable. Hence we say, with Mr. Lyell, Ichthyosaur, Plesiosaur, Pterodactyl. In like manner Mr. Owen anglicizes the termination erium, and speaks of the Anoplothere and Paleothere.
This ending us, which must therefore be excluded from family names, can be used in the naming of genera; for animals like Nautilus, Echinus, Hippopotamus; and for plants such as Crocus, Asparagus, Narcissus, Acanthus, Ranunculus, Fungus. The same form appears in other technical terms, like Fucus, Mucus, Œsophagus, Hydrocephalus, Callus, Calculus, Uterus, Fœtus, Radius, Focus, Apparatus. However, it's better to keep this form only where it's already well-established in the language; a more authentic English form is preferred. Thus, we say, as Mr. Lyell does, Ichthyosaur, Plesiosaur, Pterodactyl. Similarly, Mr. Owen anglicizes the ending erium, referring to the Anoplothere and Paleothere.
Since the wants of science thus demand adjectives which can be used also as substantive names of classes, this consideration may sometimes serve to determine our selection of new terms. Thus Mr. Lyell’s names for the subdivisions of the tertiary strata, Miocene, Pliocene, can be used as substantives; but if such words as Mioneous, Plioneous, had suggested themselves, they must have been rejected, though of equivalent signification, as not fulfilling this condition.
Since the needs of science require adjectives that can also be used as proper names for categories, this factor may sometimes guide our choice of new terms. For example, Mr. Lyell’s names for the subdivisions of the tertiary strata, Miocene and Pliocene, can be used as nouns. However, if words like Mioneous and Plioneous had come to mind, they would have been disregarded, even though they mean the same thing, because they don’t meet this requirement.
4. (a.) Abstract substantives can easily be formed from adjectives: from electric we have electricity; from galvanic, galvanism; from organic, organization; velocity, levity, gravity, are borrowed from Latin adjectives. Caloric is familiarly used for the matter of heat, though the form of the word is not supported by any obvious analogy.
4. (a.) Abstract nouns can be easily created from adjectives: from electric, we get electricity; from galvanic, galvanism; from organic, organization; velocity, levity, gravity are taken from Latin adjectives. Caloric is commonly used to refer to the substance of heat, even though the word's form isn't backed by any clear analogy.
(b.) It is intolerable to have words regularly formed, in opposition to the analogy which their meaning offers; as when bodies are said to have conductibility or conducibility with regard to heat. The bodies are conductive, and their property is conductivity.
(b.) It's completely unacceptable to have words created that contradict the pattern their meanings suggest; such as when we say that materials have conductibility or conducibility related to heat. The materials are conductive, and their property is conductivity.
(c.) The terminations ize (rather than ise), ism, and ist, are applied to words of all origins: thus we have to 338 pulverize, to colonize, Witticism, Heathenism, Journalist, Tobacconist. Hence we may make such words when they are wanted. As we cannot use physician for a cultivator of physics, I have called him a Physicist. We need very much a name to describe a cultivator of science in general. I should incline to call him a Scientist. Thus we might say, that as an Artist is a Musician, Painter, or Poet, a Scientist is a Mathematician, Physicist, or Naturalist.
(c.) The endings ize (instead of ise), ism, and ist are used for words of all origins: so we have 338 pulverize, colonize, Witticism, Heathenism, Journalist, Tobacconist. Therefore, we can create such words when needed. Since we can’t use physician for someone who studies physics, I’ve referred to him as a Physicist. We really need a term to describe someone who studies science in general. I would suggest calling him a Scientist. So we might say that just as an Artist can be a Musician, Painter, or Poet, a Scientist can be a Mathematician, Physicist, or Naturalist.
(d.) Connected with verbs in ize, we have abstract nouns in ization, as polarization, crystallization. These it appears proper to spell in English with z rather than s; governing our practice by the Greek verbal termination ίζω which we imitate. But we must observe that verbs and substantives in yse, (analyse), belong to a different analogy, giving an abstract noun in ysis and an adjective ytic or ytical; (analysis, analytic, analytical). Hence electrolyse is more proper than electrolyze.
(d.) Related to verbs ending in ize, we have abstract nouns ending in ization, like polarization and crystallization. It seems appropriate to spell these in English with z instead of s, following the Greek verbal ending ίζω that we are mimicking. However, we should note that verbs and nouns ending in yse (like analyse) follow a different pattern, forming an abstract noun in ysis and an adjective ytic or ytical (like analysis, analytic, analytical). Therefore, electrolyse is more appropriate than electrolyze.
(e.) The names of many sciences end in ics after the analogy of Mathematics, Metaphysics; as Optics, Mechanics. But these, in most other languages, as in our own formerly, have the singular form Optice, l’Optique, Optik, Optick: and though we now write Optics, we make such words of the singular number: ‘Newton’s Opticks is an example.’ As, however, this connexion in new words is startling, as when we say ‘Thermo-electrics is now much cultivated,’ it appears better to employ the singular form, after the analogy of Logic and Rhetoric, when we have words to construct. Hence we may call the science of languages Linguistic, as it is called by the best German writers, for instance, William Von Humboldt.
(e.) The names of many sciences end in ics, similar to Mathematics and Metaphysics, such as Optics and Mechanics. However, in most other languages, including our own in the past, they have the singular form Optice, l’Optique, Optik, Optick: and even though we write Optics now, we treat such words as singular: ‘Newton’s Opticks is an example.’ Since this connection in new words can be surprising, as in the phrase ‘Thermo-electrics is now widely studied,’ it seems better to use the singular form, similar to Logic and Rhetoric, when we create terms. Therefore, we can refer to the science of languages as Linguistic, as it is called by prominent German writers, like William Von Humboldt.
5. In the derivation of English from Latin or Greek words, the changes of letters are to be governed by the rules which have generally prevailed in such cases. The Greek οι and αι, the Latin oe and ae, are all converted into a simple e, as in Economy, Geodesy, penal, Cesar. Hence, according to common usage, we should write phenomena, not phænomena, paleontology, not palæontology, miocene not miocæne, pekilite not 339 pœkilite. But in order to keep more clearly in view the origin of our terms, it may be allowable to deviate from these rules of change, especially so long as the words are new and unfamiliar. Dr. Buckland speaks of the poikilitic, not pecilitic, group of strata: palæontology is the spelling commonly adopted; and in imitation of this I have written palætiology. The diphthong ει was by the Latins changed into i, as in Aristides; and hence this has been the usual form in English. Some recent authors indeed (Mr. Mitford for instance) write Aristeides; but the former appears to be the more legitimate. Hence we write miocene, pliocene, not meiocene, pleiocene. The Greek υ becomes y, and ου becomes u, in English as in Latin, as crystal, colure. The consonants κ and χ become c and ch according to common usage. Hence we write crystal, not chrystal, batrachian, not batracian, cryolite, not chryolite. As, however, the letter c before e and i differs from k, which is the sound we assign to the Greek κ, it may be allowable to use k in order to avoid this confusion. Thus, as we have seen, poikilite has been used, as well as pecilite. Even in common language some authors write skeptic, which appears to be better than sceptic with our pronunciation, and is preferred by Dr. Johnson. For the same reason, namely, to avoid confusion in the pronunciation, and also, in order to keep in view the connexion with cathode, the elements of an electrolyte which go to the anode and cathode respectively may be termed the anion and cathion; although the Greek would suggest catïon, (κατίον).
5. In the derivation of English from Latin or Greek words, the changes of letters are to be governed by the rules that typically apply in these cases. The Greek οι and αι, as well as the Latin oe and ae, are all converted into a simple e, as in Economy, Geodesy, penal, Cesar. Therefore, according to common usage, we should write phenomena, not phænomena; paleontology, not palæontology; miocene, not miocæne; pekilite, not pœkilite. But to make the origins of our terms clearer, it may be acceptable to deviate from these change rules, especially while the words are new and unfamiliar. Dr. Buckland discusses the poikilitic group of strata, not pecilitic; palæontology is the commonly accepted spelling; and following this, I've written palætiology. The diphthong ει was converted into i by the Latins, as in Aristides; thus, this has become the usual form in English. Some recent authors, like Mr. Mitford, write Aristeides; however, the former seems to be the more legitimate form. Consequently, we write miocene, pliocene, not meiocene, pleiocene. The Greek υ becomes y, and ου becomes u in English, just like in Latin, as in crystal, colure. The consonants κ and χ change to c and ch according to common usage. Hence, we write crystal, not chrystal; batrachian, not batracian; cryolite, not chryolite. However, since the letter c before e and i sounds different from k, which is the sound we assign to the Greek κ, it may be acceptable to use k to avoid this confusion. Thus, as we've seen, poikilite has been utilized, just like pecilite. Even in everyday language, some authors write skeptic, which seems better than sceptic given our pronunciation and is preferred by Dr. Johnson. For the same reason, to avoid confusion in pronunciation and to maintain the connection with cathode, the components of an electrolyte that lead to the anode and cathode respectively may be called the anion and cathion; although the Greek would suggest catïon, (κατίον).
6. The example of chemistry has shown that we have in the terminations of words a resource of which great use may be made in indicating the relations of certain classes of objects: as sulphurous and sulphuric acids; sulphates, sulphites, and sulphurets. Since the introduction of the artifice by the Lavoisierian school, it has been extended to some new cases. The Chlorine, Fluorine, Bromine, Iodine, had their names put into that shape in consequence of their supposed analogy: and for the same reason have been termed Chlore, 340 Phlore, Brome, Iode, by French chemists. In like manner, the names of metals in their Latin form have been made to end in um, as Osmium, Palladium; and hence it is better to say Platinum, Molybdenum, than Platina, Molybdena. It has been proposed to term the basis of Boracic acid Boron; and those who conceive that the basis of Silica has an analogy with Boron have proposed to term it Silicon, while those who look upon it as a metal would name it Silicium. Selenium was so named when it was supposed to be a metal: as its analogies are now acknowledged to be of another kind, it would be desirable, if the change were not too startling, to term it Selen, as it is in German. Phosphorus in like manner might be Phosphur, which would indicate its analogy with Sulphur.
6. The example of chemistry has shown that we have the endings of words as a resource that can be really useful in indicating the relationships of certain classes of objects: like sulfurous and sulfuric acids; sulfurates, sulfurites, and sulfurides. Since the introduction of this technique by the Lavoisier school, it's been expanded to some new cases. Chlorine, Fluorine, Bromine, Iodine got their names changed because of their supposed similarities: and for the same reason, they've been called Chlore, 340 Phlore, Brome, Iode, by French chemists. Similarly, the names of metals in their Latin forms have been made to end in um, like Osmium, Palladium; so it's better to say Platinum, Molybdenum, rather than Platina, Molybdena. It has been suggested to call the base of Boracic acid Boron; and those who believe that the base of Silica is similar to Boron have proposed calling it Silicon, while those who see it as a metal would name it Silicium. Selenium was named when it was thought to be a metal: since its analogies are now acknowledged to be different, it would be ideal, if the change weren't too shocking, to call it Selen, as it is in German. Phosphorus could likewise be Phosphur, which would suggest its similarity to Sulphur.
The resource which terminations offer has been applied in other cases. The names of many species of minerals end in lite, or ite, as Staurolite, Augite. Hence Adolphe Brongniart, in order to form a name for a genus of fossil plants, has given this termination to the name of the recent genus which they nearly resemble, as Zamites, from Zamia, Lycopodites from Lycopodium.
The resources that terminations provide have been used in other cases. Many mineral species names end in lite or ite, such as Staurolite and Augite. Therefore, Adolphe Brongniart created a name for a genus of fossil plants by adding this termination to the name of a recent genus that they closely resemble, like Zamites from Zamia and Lycopodites from Lycopodium.
Names of different genera which differ in termination only are properly condemned by Linnæus58; as Alsine, Alsinoides, Alsinella, Alsinastrum; for there is no definite relation marked by those terminations. Linnæus gives to such genera distinct names, Alsine, Bufonia, Sagina, Elatine.
Names of different genera that only differ in their endings are rightly criticized by Linnæus58; like Alsine, Alsinoides, Alsinella, Alsinastrum; because those endings don't indicate any specific relationship. Linnæus assigns distinct names to these genera: Alsine, Bufonia, Sagina, Elatine.
Terminations are well adapted to express definite systematic relations, such as those of chemistry, but they must be employed with a due regard to all the bearings of the system. Davy proposed to denote the combinations of other substances with chlorine by peculiar terminations; using ane for the smallest proportion of Chlorine, and anea for the larger, as Cuprane, Cupranea. In this nomenclature, common salt would be Sodane, and Chloride of Nitrogen would be Azotane. This suggestion never found favour. It was 341 objected that it was contrary to the Linnæan precept, that a specific name must not be united to a generic termination. But this was not putting the matter exactly on its right ground; for the rules of nomenclature of natural history do not apply to chemistry; and the Linnæan rule might with equal propriety have been adduced as a condemnation of such terms as Sulphurous, Sulphuric. But Davy’s terms were bad; for it does not appear that Chlorine enters, as Oxygen does, into so large a portion of chemical compounds, that its relations afford a key to their nature, and may properly be made an element in their names.
Terminations are well-suited to express specific systematic relationships, like those in chemistry, but they should be used with consideration of the entire system. Davy suggested using unique terminations to indicate the combinations of other substances with chlorine; he proposed ane for the smallest amount of chlorine and anea for the larger amounts, as in Cuprane and Cupranea. In this naming system, common salt would be Sodane, and nitrogen chloride would be Azotane. This idea was never accepted. It was argued that it contradicted the Linnaean principle that a specific name should not be combined with a generic ending. However, this wasn't addressing the issue correctly; the nomenclature rules of natural history don't apply to chemistry, and the Linnaean rule could equally be used to criticize terms like Sulphurous and Sulphuric. But Davy’s terms were poor because it doesn't seem that chlorine, unlike oxygen, is present in a significant number of chemical compounds to the extent that its relationships provide insight into their nature and could justifiably be included in their names.
This resource, of terminations, has been abused, wherever it has been used wantonly, or without a definite significance in the variety. This is the case in M. Beudant’s Mineralogy. Among the names which he has given to new species, we find the following (besides many in ite), Scolexerose, Opsimose, Exanthelose, &c.; Diacrase, Panabase, Neoplase; Neoclese; Rhodoise, Stibiconise, &c.; Marceline, Wilhelmine, &c.; Exitele, and many others. In addition to other objections which might be made to these names, their variety is a material defect: for to make this variety depend on caprice alone, as in those cases it does, is to throw away a resource of which chemical nomenclature may teach us the value.
This resource of names has been misused whenever it has been applied randomly or without clear significance in the diversity. This is evident in M. Beudant’s Mineralogy. Among the names he has assigned to new species, we find the following (along with many ending in ite): Scolexerose, Opsimose, Exanthelose, etc.; Diacrase, Panabase, Neoplase; Neoclese; Rhodoise, Stibiconise, etc.; Marceline, Wilhelmine, etc.; Exitele, and many more. Besides other criticisms that could be made about these names, their diversity is a significant flaw: allowing this variety to be based solely on whim, as it does in these instances, is to waste a resource that chemical nomenclature can help us appreciate.
Aphorism XXII.
Aphorism XXII.
When alterations in technical terms become necessary, it is desirable that the new term should contain in its form some memorial of the old one.
When changes in technical terms are needed, it's important that the new term still reflects some aspect of the old one.
We have excellent examples of the advantageous use of this maxim in Linnæus’s reform of botanical nomenclature. His innovations were very extensive, but they were still moderated as much as possible, and connected in many ways with the names of plants then in use. He has himself given several rules of nomenclature, which tend to establish this connexion of the 342 old and new in a reform. Thus he says, ‘Generic names which are current, and are not accompanied with harm to botany, should be tolerated59.’ ‘A passable generic name is not to be changed for another, though more apt60’. ‘New generic names are not to be framed so long as passable synonyms are at hand61.’ ‘A generic name of one genus, except it be superfluous, is not to be transferred to another genus, though it suit the other better62.’ ‘If a received genus requires to be divided into several, the name which before included the whole, shall be applied to the most common and familiar kind63.’ And though he rejects all generic names which have not a Greek or Latin root64, he is willing to make an exception in favour of those which from their form might be supposed to have such a root, though they are really borrowed from other languages, as Thea, which is the Greek for goddess; Coffea, which might seem to come from a Greek word denoting silence (κωφός); Cheiranthus, which appears to mean hand-flower, but is really derived from the Arabic Keiri: and many others.
We have great examples of the beneficial use of this principle in Linnæus’s overhaul of plant naming. His changes were quite extensive, but he kept them as moderate as possible and tied them in many ways to the names of plants that were already in use. He himself provided several naming rules aimed at linking the 342 old and new in a reform. He states, ‘Current generic names that don’t harm botany should be accepted59.’ ‘A suitable generic name shouldn’t be replaced with another, even if it’s more fitting60.’ ‘New generic names shouldn’t be created as long as usable synonyms are available61.’ ‘A generic name from one genus, unless it’s unnecessary, shouldn’t be given to another genus, even if it seems to fit better62.’ ‘If an accepted genus needs to be split into several, the name that initially covered the whole shall be used for the most common and familiar type63.’ And although he dismisses all generic names that don't have a Greek or Latin root64, he is open to making an exception for those that could be thought to have such roots based on their form, even if they are actually taken from other languages, like Thea, which means goddess in Greek; Coffea, which might appear to come from a Greek word meaning silence (deaf); Cheiranthus, which seems to mean hand-flower, but actually comes from the Arabic Keiri; and many others.
As we have already said, the attempt at a reformation of the nomenclature of Mineralogy made by Professor Mohs will probably not produce any permanent effect, on this account amongst others, that it has not been conducted in this temperate mode; the innovations bear too large a proportion to the whole of the names, and contain too little to remind us of the known appellations. Yet in some respects Professor Mohs has acted upon this maxim. Thus he has called one of his classes Spar, because Felspar belongs to it. I shall venture to offer a few suggestions on this subject of Mineralogical Nomenclature.
As we've already mentioned, Professor Mohs's attempt to reform the naming system in Mineralogy probably won't have any lasting impact. This is partly because it hasn't been approached in a balanced way; the changes are too drastic compared to the existing names and don't retain enough familiarity with the original terms. Nevertheless, in some ways, Professor Mohs has stuck to this principle. For example, he named one of his classes Spar because Felspar is included in it. I'll take the chance to offer a few suggestions on the topic of Mineralogical Nomenclature.
It has already been remarked that the confusion and complexity which prevail in this subject render a reform very desirable. But it will be seen, from the reasons assigned under the Ninth Aphorism, that no permanent system of names can be looked for, till a 343 sound system of classification be established. The best mineralogical systems recently published, however, appear to converge to a common point; and certain classes have been formed which have both a natural-historical and a chemical significance. These Classes, according to Naumann, whose arrangement appears the best, are Hydrolytes, Haloids, Silicides, Oxides of Metals, Metals, Sulphurides (Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes), and Anthracides. Now we find;—that the Hydrolytes are all compounds, such as are commonly termed Salts;—that the Haloids are, many of them, already called Spars, as Calc Spar, Heavy Spar, Iron Spar, Zinc Spar;—that the Silicides, the most numerous and difficult class, are denoted for the most part, by single words, many of which end in ite;—that the other classes, or subclasses, Oxides, Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes, have commonly been so termed; as Red Iron Oxide, Iron Pyrites, Zinc Blende;—while pure metals have usually had the adjective native prefixed, as Native Gold, Native Copper. These obvious features of the current names appear to afford us a basis for a systematic nomenclature. The Salts and Spars might all have the word salt or spar included in their name, as Natron Salt, Glauber Salt, Mock Salt; Calc Spar, Bitter Spar, (Carbonate of Lime and Magnesia), Fluor Spar, Phosphor Spar (Phosphate of Lime), Heavy Spar, Celestine Spar (Sulphate of Strontian), Chromic Lead Spar (Chromate of Lead); the Silicides might all have the name constructed so as to be a single word ending in ite, as Chabasite (Chabasie), Natrolite (Mesotype), Sommite (Nepheline), Pistacite (Epidote); from this rule might be excepted the Gems, as Topaz, Emerald, Corundum, which might retain their old names. The Oxides, Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes, might be so termed; thus we should have Tungstic Iron Oxide (usually called Tungstate of Iron), Arsenical Iron Pyrites (Mispickel), Tetrahedral Copper Glance (Fahlerz), Quicksilver Blende (Cinnabar), and the metals might be termed native, as Native Copper, Native Silver.
It has already been noted that the confusion and complexity surrounding this topic make reform very desirable. However, as discussed under the Ninth Aphorism, a permanent naming system cannot be achieved until a sound classification system is established. The best recently published mineralogical systems seem to converge towards a common point, forming certain classes that have both natural-historical and chemical significance. According to Naumann, whose arrangement appears the best, these classes are Hydrolytes, Haloids, Silicides, Oxides of Metals, Metals, Sulphurides (Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes), and Anthracides. We find that Hydrolytes are all compounds commonly referred to as Salts; many of the Haloids are already known as Spars, such as Calc Spar, Heavy Spar, Iron Spar, Zinc Spar; the Silicides, the largest and most complex class, are mostly named with single words, many ending in ite; the other classes or subclasses, Oxides, Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes, have commonly been categorized as such, like Red Iron Oxide, Iron Pyrites, Zinc Blende; while pure metals usually have the adjective native prefixed, as in Native Gold, Native Copper. These clear features of the current names provide us with a foundation for a systematic naming convention. The Salts and Spars could all incorporate the word salt or spar in their names, like Natron Salt, Glauber Salt, Mock Salt; Calc Spar, Bitter Spar (Carbonate of Lime and Magnesia), Fluor Spar, Phosphor Spar (Phosphate of Lime), Heavy Spar, Celestine Spar (Sulphate of Strontian), Chromic Lead Spar (Chromate of Lead); the Silicides could be named as single words ending in ite, such as Chabasite (Chabasie), Natrolite (Mesotype), Sommite (Nepheline), Pistacite (Epidote); this rule might exclude the Gems, like Topaz, Emerald, Corundum, which could retain their original names. The Oxides, Pyrites, Glances, and Blendes could be termed accordingly; thus, we would have Tungstic Iron Oxide (usually called Tungstate of Iron), Arsenical Iron Pyrites (Mispickel), Tetrahedral Copper Glance (Fahlerz), Quicksilver Blende (Cinnabar), and the metals could be referred to as native, such as Native Copper, Native Silver.
Such a nomenclature would take in a very large 344 proportion of commonly received appellations, especially if we were to select among the synonyms, as is proposed above in the case of Glauber Salt, Bitter Spar, Sommite, Pistacite, Natrolite. Hence it might be adopted without serious inconvenience. It would make the name convey information respecting the place of the mineral in the system; and by imposing this condition, would limit the extreme caprice, both as to origin and form, which has hitherto been indulged in imposing mineralogical names.
Such a naming system would encompass a very large 344 percentage of commonly used names, especially if we were to choose among the synonyms, as suggested above in the case of Glauber Salt, Bitter Spar, Sommite, Pistacite, Natrolite. Therefore, it could be adopted without significant issues. It would ensure the name provides information about the mineral's place in the system; and by setting this requirement, it would curb the extreme randomness in terms of origin and shape that has previously been allowed in naming minerals.
The principle of a mineralogical nomenclature determined by the place of the species in the system, has been recognized by Mr. Beudant as well as Mr. Mohs. The former writer has proposed that we should say Carbonate Calcaire, Carbonate Witherite, Sulphate Couperose, Silicate Stilbite, Silicate Chabasie, and so on. But these are names in which the part added for the sake of the system, is not incorporated with the common name, and would hardly make its way into common use.
The principle of a mineral naming system based on where a species fits in the classification has been acknowledged by Mr. Beudant and Mr. Mohs. The former suggested that we should use terms like Carbonate Calcaire, Carbonate Witherite, Sulphate Couperose, Silicate Stilbite, Silicate Chabasie, and so on. However, these names add components for organizational purposes that don’t blend with the common name and are unlikely to gain general acceptance.
We have already noticed Mr. Mohs’s designations for two of the Systems of Crystallization, the Pyramidal and the Prismatic, as not characteristic. If it were thought advisable to reform such a defect, this might be done by calling them the Square Pyramidal and the Oblong Prismatic, which terms, while they expressed the real distinction of the systems, would be intelligible at once to those acquainted with the Mohsian terminology.
We’ve already pointed out that Mr. Mohs’s names for two of the Crystallization Systems, the Pyramidal and the Prismatic, are not accurate. If it seems necessary to fix this issue, we could rename them the Square Pyramidal and the Oblong Prismatic. These terms, while accurately conveying the differences between the systems, would be easily understood by those familiar with Mohs’s terminology.
I will mention another suggestion respecting the introduction of an improvement in scientific language. The term Depolarization was introduced, because it was believed that the effect of certain crystals, when polarized light was incident upon them in certain positions, was to destroy the peculiarity which polarization had produced. But it is now well known, that the effect of the second crystal in general is to divide the polarized ray of light into two rays, polarized in different planes. Still this effect is often spoken of as Depolarization, no better term having been yet devised. I have proposed and used the term Dipolarization, 345 which well expresses what takes place, and so nearly resembles the elder word, that it must sound familiar to those already acquainted with writings on this subject.
I want to bring up another suggestion regarding the improvement of scientific language. The term Depolarization was introduced because it was believed that the effect of certain crystals when polarized light hit them at specific angles was to eliminate the unique characteristics created by polarization. However, it is now widely understood that the effect of the second crystal generally divides the polarized light beam into two rays, each polarized in different planes. Still, this effect is often referred to as Depolarization, as no better term has been developed yet. I have proposed and used the term Dipolarization, 345 which accurately describes what happens and is similar enough to the original term that it should sound familiar to those who are already familiar with this topic.
I may mention one term in another department of literature which it appears desirable to reform in the same manner. The theory of the Fine Arts, or the philosophy which speculates concerning what is beautiful in painting, sculpture or architecture, and other arts, often requires to be spoken of in a single word. Baumgarten and other German writers have termed this province of speculation Æsthetics; αἰσθάνεσθαι, to perceive, being a word which appeared to them fit to designate the perception of beauty in particular. Since, however, æsthetics would naturally denote the Doctrine of Perception in general; since this Doctrine requires a name; since the term æsthetics has actually been applied to it by other German writers (as Kant); and since the essential point in the philosophy now spoken of is that it attends to Beauty;—it appears desirable to change this name. In pursuance of the maxim now before us, I should propose the term Callæsthetics, or rather (in agreement with what was said in page 338) Callæsthetic, the science of the perception of beauty.
I want to bring up one term from a different area of literature that seems to need a similar update. The theory of the Fine Arts, or the philosophy that explores what is beautiful in painting, sculpture, architecture, and other arts, often needs to be expressed in a single term. Baumgarten and some other German writers called this area of speculation Æsthetics; Perceive, which means to perceive, was considered a fitting way to refer to the perception of beauty specifically. However, since æsthetics would naturally refer to the Doctrine of Perception in general; since this Doctrine needs a name; since the term æsthetics has also been used for it by other German writers (like Kant); and since the main focus of the philosophy in question is on Beauty—it's clear that we should rethink this name. Following the principle we’ve established, I would suggest the term Callæsthetics, or more accurately (as mentioned in page 338) Callæsthetic, which is the science of the perception of beauty.
FURTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE APHORISMS
ON SCIENTIFIC LANGUAGE, FROM THE
RECENT COURSE OF SCIENCES.
1. Botany.
Botany.
The nomenclature of Botany as rescued from confusion by Linnæus, has in modern times been in some danger of relapsing into disorder or becoming intolerably extensive, in consequence of the multiplication of genera by the separation of one old genus into several new ones, and the like subdivisions of the higher groups, as subclasses and classes. This inconvenience, and the origin of it, have been so well pointed out by Mr. G. Bentham65, that I shall venture to adopt his judgment as an Aphorism, and give his reasons for it.
The naming system of Botany, which was clarified by Linnæus, has recently faced the risk of falling back into chaos or becoming excessively complicated due to the increase in genera that arises from splitting one old genus into several new ones, as well as similar divisions of higher groups like subclasses and classes. This issue and its origins have been effectively highlighted by Mr. G. Bentham65, so I will confidently take his insight as a saying and present his rationale for it.
Aphorism XXIII.
Aphorism 23.
It is of the greatest importance that the Groups which give their substantive names to every included species should remain large.
It's really important that the Groups that name every included species stay large.
It will be recollected that according to the Linnæan nomenclature, the genus is marked by a substantive, (as Rosa), and the species designated by an adjective added to this substantive, (as Rosa Alpina); while the natural orders are described by adjectives taken substantively, (as Rosaceæ), But this rule, though it has been universally assented to in theory, has often been deviated from in practice. The number of known species having much increased, and the language of Linnæus and the principles of Jussieu having much augmented the facilities for the study of affinities, botanists have become aware that the species of a genus and the genera of an order can be collected into intermediate groups 347 as natural and as well defined as the genera and orders themselves, and names are required for these subordinate groups as much as for the genera and orders.
It should be remembered that, according to Linnaeus's naming system, the genus is indicated by a noun (like Rosa), and the species is identified by an adjective added to this noun (like Rosa Alpina); while natural orders are described using adjectives as nouns (like Rosaceæ). However, although this rule has been widely accepted in theory, it has often been bypassed in practice. With the number of known species having greatly increased, and the language of Linnaeus and Jussieu's principles providing more tools for studying relationships, botanists have realized that the species within a genus and the genera within an order can be grouped into intermediate categories that are just as natural and well-defined as the genera and orders themselves. Names are necessary for these subordinate groups just as much as for the genera and orders.
Now two courses have been followed in providing names for these subordinate groups.
Now, two approaches have been taken to name these subordinate groups.
1. The original genera (considering the case of genera in the first place) have been preserved, (if well founded); and the lower groups have been called subgenera, sections, subsections, divisions, &c.: and the original names of the genera have been maintained for the purpose of nomenclature, in order to retain a convenient and stable language. But when these subordinate groups are so well defined and so natural, that except for the convenience of language, they might be made good genera, there are given also to these subordinate groups, substantive or substantively-taken adjective names. When these subordinate groups are less defined or less natural, either no names at all are given, and they are distinguished by figures or signs such as *, **, or § 1, § 2, &c. or there are given them mere adjective names.
1. The original genera (considering genera first) have been kept intact, (if they are well-founded); and the lower groups have been referred to as subgenera, sections, subsections, divisions, etc.: and the original names of the genera have been maintained for naming purposes, to keep a convenient and stable language. However, when these subordinate groups are well-defined and natural enough that, except for the convenience of language, they could effectively be considered separate genera, they are also given substantive or substantively-derived adjective names. When these subordinate groups are less defined or less natural, sometimes they don’t receive any names at all and are instead distinguished by symbols or figures like *, **, or § 1, § 2, etc., or they are assigned just adjective names.
Or, 2, To regard these intermediate groups between species and the original genera, as so many independent genera; and to give them substantive names, to be used in ordinary botanical nomenclature.
Or, 2, To consider these intermediate groups between species and the original genera as independent genera; and to assign them distinct names to be used in standard botanical naming.
Now the second course is that which has produced the intolerable multiplication of genera in modern times; and the first course is the only one which can save botanical nomenclature from replunging into the chaos in which Linnæus found it. It was strongly advocated by the elder De Candolle; although in the latter years of his life, seeing how general was the disposition to convert his subgenera and sections into genera, he himself more or less gave in to the general practice. The same principle was adopted by Endlichen, but he again was disposed to go far in giving substantive names to purely technical or ill-defined subsections of genera.
Now the second approach is what has led to the overwhelming increase in categories in modern times; and the first approach is the only one that can prevent botanical naming from falling back into the chaos that Linnæus found it in. It was strongly supported by the elder De Candolle; however, in the later years of his life, realizing how widespread the trend was to turn his subgenera and sections into full genera, he eventually somewhat accepted this practice. Endlichen adopted the same principle, but he tended to take it further by assigning actual names to purely technical or vaguely defined subsections of genera.
The multiplication of genera has been much too common. Botanists have a natural pride in establishing new genera (or orders); and besides this, it is felt how useful it is, in the study of affinities, to define and 348 name all natural groups in every grade, however numerous they may be: and in the immense variety of language it is found easy to coin names indefinitely.
The creation of new genera has become way too common. Botanists take pride in creating new genera (or orders); plus, it's recognized how helpful it is, in studying relationships, to define and name all natural groups at every level, no matter how many there are. Given the vast variety of language, it's easy to keep coming up with names endlessly. 348
But the arguments on the other side much preponderate. In attempting to introduce all these new names into ordinary botanical language, the memory is taxed beyond the capabilities of any mind, and the original and legitimate object of the Linnæan nomenclature is wholly lost sight of. In a purely scientific view it matters little if the Orders are converted into Classes or Alliances, the Genera into Orders, and the Sections or Subsections into Genera: their relative importance does not depend on the names given to them, but on their height in the scale of comprehensiveness. But for language, the great implement without which science cannot work, it is of the greatest importance, as our Aphorism declares, That the groups which give their substantive names to every species which they include, should remain large. If, independently of the inevitable increase of Genera by new discoveries, such old ones as Ficus, Begonia, Arum, Erica, &c. are divided into 10, 20, 30, or 40 independent Genera, with names and characters which are to be recollected before any one species can be spoken of;—if Genera are to be reckoned by tens of thousands instead of by thousands;—the range of any individual botanist will be limited to a small portion of the whole field of the sciences.
But the arguments on the other side are much stronger. When trying to introduce all these new names into everyday botanical language, it pushes the memory past what anyone can handle, and the original purpose of Linnaeus's naming system is completely overlooked. From a purely scientific perspective, it doesn't really matter if Orders are changed to Classes or Alliances, Genera are turned into Orders, and Sections or Subsections become Genera: their importance isn't determined by the names assigned to them, but by their level of comprehensiveness. However, for language, which is the essential tool for science to function, this is extremely important, as our Aphorism states, that the groups which give substantive names to each species they include should stay large. If, apart from the inevitable increase of Genera due to new discoveries, well-established ones like Ficus, Begonia, Arum, Erica, etc., get split into 10, 20, 30, or 40 separate Genera, each with names and characteristics that need to be memorized before discussing any species;—if Genera are counted in the tens of thousands instead of just thousands;—the scope of any individual botanist will be reduced to just a small part of the entire field of the sciences.
And in like manner with regard to Orders, so long as the number of Orders can be kept within, or not much beyond a couple of hundred, it may reasonably be expected that a botanist of ordinary capacity shall obtain a sufficient general idea of their nature and characters to call them at any time individually to his mind for the purpose of comparison: but if we double the number of Orders, all is confusion.
And similarly with Orders, as long as the number of Orders is kept to around a couple of hundred, it's reasonable to expect that an average botanist will have a good enough understanding of their nature and characteristics to recall them individually for comparison. However, if we double the number of Orders, everything becomes chaotic.
The inevitable confusion and the necessity of maintaining in some way the larger groups, have been perceived by those even who have gone the furthest in lowering the scale of Orders and Genera. As a remedy for this confusion, they propose to erect the old genera into independent orders, and the old orders into classes 349 or divisions. But this is but an incomplete resumption of the old principles, without the advantage of the old nomenclature.
The unavoidable confusion and the need to keep the larger groups in some form have been recognized by those who have pushed hardest to simplify the classifications of Orders and Genera. To address this confusion, they suggest making the old genera independent orders and the old orders into classes 349 or divisions. However, this is just a partial return to the old principles, without benefiting from the old naming system.
And it will not be asserted, with regard to these new genera, formed by cutting up the old ones, that the new group is better defined than the group above it: on the contrary, it is frequently less so. It is not pretended that Urostigma or Phannacosyce, new genera formed out of the old genus Ficus, are better defined than the genus Ficus: or that the new genera which have lately been cut out of the old genus Begonia, form more natural groups than Begonia itself does. The principle which seems to be adopted in such subdivisions of old genera is this: that the lowest definable group above a species is a genus. If we were to go a step further, every species becomes a genus with a substantive name.
And it won’t be claimed that these new categories, created by breaking apart the old ones, are better defined than the higher category: in fact, they’re often less defined. It’s not suggested that Urostigma or Phannacosyce, new categories derived from the old genus Ficus, are better defined than the genus Ficus: nor that the new categories recently created from the old genus Begonia form more natural groups than Begonia itself does. The principle that seems to be followed in these subdivisions of old categories is this: the lowest definable group above a species is a genus. If we go a step further, every species becomes a genus with a unique name.
It ought always to be recollected that though the analytical process carried to the uttermost, and separating groups by observation of differences, is necessary for the purpose of ascertaining the facts upon which botany or any other classificatory science is based, it is a judicious synthesis alone, associating individuals by the ties of language, which can enable the human mind to take a comprehensive view of these facts, to deduce from them the principles of the science, or to communicate to others either facts or principles.
It’s important to remember that while analyzing things in detail and identifying groups based on their differences is essential for determining the facts that form the foundation of botany or any classification science, it’s only through thoughtful synthesis—linking individuals through language—that we can fully understand these facts, derive the principles of the science, or convey those facts or principles to others.
2. Comparative Anatomy.
2. Comparative Anatomy.
The Language of Botany, as framed by Linnæus, and regulated by his Canons, is still the most notable and successful example of scientific terminology which has obtained general reception among naturalists. But the Language of Anatomy, and especially of the Comparative Anatomy of the skeleton, has of late been an object of great attention to physiologists; and especially to Mr. Owen; and the collection of terms which he has proposed are selected with so much thought and care, that they may minister valuable lessons to us in this part of our subject.
The Language of Botany, as defined by Linnaeus and guided by his rules, remains the most recognized and effective example of scientific terminology that is widely accepted among naturalists. However, the Language of Anatomy, particularly in Comparative Anatomy of the skeleton, has recently drawn significant interest from physiologists, especially from Mr. Owen. The set of terms he has suggested is chosen with great thought and care, providing valuable insights for us in this area of our study.
There is, at first sight, this broad difference between the descriptive language of Botany and of Comparative 350 Anatomy; that in the former science, we have comparatively few parts to describe, (calyx, corolla, stamen, pistil, pericarp, seed, &c.): while each of these parts is susceptible of many forms, for describing which with precision many terms must be provided: in Comparative Anatomy, on the other hand, the skeletons of many animals are to be regarded as modifications of a common type, and the terms by which their parts are described are to mark this community of type. The terminology of Botany has for its object description; the language of Comparative Anatomy must have for its basis morphology. Accordingly, Mr. Owen’s terms are selected so as to express the analogies, or, as he calls them, the homologies of the skeleton; those parts of the skeleton being termed homologues, which have the same place in the general type, and therefore ought to have the same name.
At first glance, there seems to be a significant difference between the descriptive language used in Botany and that in Comparative Anatomy. In Botany, we have relatively few parts to describe (like calyx, corolla, stamen, pistil, pericarp, seed, etc.), but each of these parts can take on many forms, requiring precise terminology to describe them. In contrast, in Comparative Anatomy, the skeletons of different animals are seen as variations of a common type, and the terms used to describe their parts highlight this shared type. The purpose of Botanical terminology is description, while the language of Comparative Anatomy is based on morphology. Consequently, Mr. Owen’s terms are chosen to express the analogies, or as he refers to them, the homologies of the skeleton. The parts of the skeleton that occupy the same position in the general type are called homologues and should have the same name.
Yet this distinction of the basis of botanical and
anatomical terminology is not to be pushed too far.
The primary definitions in botany, as given by Linnæus,
are founded on morphological views; and imply
a general type of the structure of plants. These are his
definitions (Phil. Bot. Art. 86).
Calyx, Cortex plantæ in Fructificatione præsens.
Corolla, Liber plantæ in Flora præsens.
Stamen, Viscus pro Pollinis præparatione.
Pistillum, Viscus fructui adherens pro Pollinis receptione.
Pericarpium, Viscus gravidum seminibus, quæ matura dimittit.
Yet this distinction between botanical and anatomical terminology shouldn't be taken too far. The main definitions in botany, as provided by Linnaeus, are based on structural observations and suggest a general type of plant structure. These are his definitions (Phil. Bot. Art. 86).
Calyx, Cortex of the plant during fruiting.
Corolla, Liber of the plant during flowering.
Stamen, Tissue for pollen preparation.
Pistol, Tissue attached to the fruit for pollen reception.
Pericarp, Tissue filled with seeds, which it releases when mature.
But in what follows these leading definitions, the terms are descriptive merely. Now in Comparative Anatomy, an important object of terms is, to express what part of the type each bone represents—to answer the question, what is it? before we proceed, assuming that we know what it is, to describe its shape. The difficulty of this previous question is very great when we come to the bones of the head; and when we assume, as morphology leads us to do, that the heads of all vertebrated animals, including even fishes, are composed of homologous bones. And, as I have already 351 said in the History (b. xvii. c. 7), speaking of Animal Morphology, the best physiologists are now agreed that the heads of vertebrates may be resolved into a series of vertebræ, homologically repeated and modified in different animals. This doctrine has been gradually making its way among anatomists, through a great variety of views respecting details; and hence, with great discrepancies in the language by which it has been expressed. Mr. Owen has proposed a complete series of terms for the bones of the head of all vertebrates; and these names are supported by reasons which are full of interest and instruction to the physiologist, on account of the comprehensive and precise knowledge of comparative osteology which they involve; but they are also, as I have said, interesting and instructive to us, as exemplifying the reasons which may be given for the adoption of words in scientific language. The reasons thus given agree with several of the aphorisms which I have laid down, and may perhaps suggest a few others. Mr. Owen has done me the great honour to quote with approval some of these aphorisms. The terms which he has proposed belong, as I have already said, to the Terminology, not to the Nomenclature of Zoology. In the latter subject, the Nomenclature (the names of species) the binary nomenclature established by Linnæus remains, in its principle, unshaken, simple and sufficient.
But in what follows these main definitions, the terms are just descriptive. Now in Comparative Anatomy, an important goal of the terms is to express what part of the type each bone represents—to answer the question, what is it? before we go further, assuming we know what it is, to describe its shape. The challenge of this initial question is quite significant when it comes to the bones of the head; and when we assume, as morphology suggests we should, that the heads of all vertebrate animals, including even fish, are made up of homologous bones. And, as I have already 351 mentioned in the History (b. xvii. c. 7), speaking of Animal Morphology, the best physiologists now agree that the heads of vertebrates can be broken down into a series of vertebrae, homologously repeated and modified in different animals. This idea has gradually gained traction among anatomists, amid a wide range of perspectives on the details; hence, there are significant discrepancies in the language used to express it. Mr. Owen has proposed a complete set of terms for the bones of the head of all vertebrates; and these names are backed by reasons that are full of interest and insight for the physiologist, due to the comprehensive and precise knowledge of comparative osteology they represent; but they are also, as I mentioned, interesting and instructive to us, as they exemplify the reasoning behind the adoption of words in scientific language. The reasons given align with several of the principles I have established, and may even suggest a few more. Mr. Owen has honored me by quoting some of these principles with approval. The terms he proposed belong, as I have already stated, to the Terminology, not the Nomenclature of Zoology. In the latter topic, the Nomenclature (the names of species) that Linnæus established still stands, in its principle, unshaken, simple, and sufficient.
I shall best derive from Mr. Owen’s labours and reflexions some of the instruction which they supply with reference to the Language of Science, by making remarks on his terminology with reference to such aphorisms as I have propounded on the subject, and others of a like kind.
I will get the most out of Mr. Owen's work and thoughts by discussing the lessons they offer regarding the Language of Science. I’ll comment on his terminology in relation to the ideas I've proposed on the topic, along with similar ones.
Mr. Owen, in his Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton, has given in a Tabular Form his views of the homology of the bones of the head of vertebrates, and the names which he consequently proposes for each bone, with the synonyms as they occur in the writings of some of the most celebrated anatomical philosophers, Cuvier, Geoffroy, Hallmann, Meckel and Wagner, Agassiz and Soemmering. And he has added to this Table his reasons for dissenting from his predecessors 352 to the extent to which he has done so. He has done this, he says, only where nature seemed clearly to refuse her sanction to them; acting upon the maxim (our Aphorism X.) that new terms and changes of terms which are not needed in order to express truth, are to be avoided. The illustrations which I have there given, however, of this maxim, apply rather to the changes in nomenclature than in terminology; and though many considerations apply equally to these two subjects, there are some points in which the reasons differ in the two cases: especially in this point:—the names, both of genera and of species, in a system of nomenclature, may be derived from casual or arbitrary circumstances, as I have said in Aphorism XIII. But the terms of a scientific terminology ought to cohere as a system, and therefore should not commonly be derived from anything casual or arbitrary, but from some analogy or connexion. Hence it seems unadvisable to apply to bones terms derived from the names of persons, as ossa wormiana; or even from an accident in anatomical history, as os innominatum.
Mr. Owen, in his Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton, has presented his views on the homology of vertebrates' skull bones in a table format, along with the names he suggests for each bone, including synonyms found in the works of renowned anatomical scholars like Cuvier, Geoffroy, Hallmann, Meckel, Wagner, Agassiz, and Soemmering. He’s also included his reasons for disagreeing with his predecessors to the extent that he has. He states he does this only when nature seems clearly to reject their classifications, following the principle (our Aphorism X), that new terms and changes to terms that aren't necessary to convey the truth should be avoided. The examples I provided regarding this principle relate more to changes in nomenclature than to terminology; although many factors are relevant to both topics, there are some distinctions in reasoning: in particular, the names of genera and species in a naming system can arise from random or arbitrary situations, as I mentioned in Aphorism XIII. However, the terms in a scientific terminology should be cohesive as a system, so they should usually not originate from anything random or arbitrary, but rather from some similarity or connection. Therefore, it seems inappropriate to use names derived from people for bones, like ossa wormiana, or even from occurrences in anatomical history, such as os innominatum.
It is further desirable that in establishing such a terminology, each bone should be designated by a single word, and not by a descriptive phrase, consisting of substantive and adjective. On this ground Mr. Owen proposes presphenoid for sphenöide anterieur. So also prefrontal is preferred to anterior frontal, and postfrontal to posterior frontal. And the reason which he gives for this is worthy of being stated as an Aphorism, among those which should regulate this subject. I shall therefore state it thus:
It’s also important that when creating this terminology, each bone is named with a single word instead of a descriptive phrase made up of a noun and an adjective. For this reason, Mr. Owen suggests using presphenoid instead of sphenöide anterieur. Similarly, prefrontal is preferred over anterior frontal, and postfrontal over posterior frontal. The rationale he provides for this deserves to be presented as an aphorism among the principles that should guide this subject. Therefore, I will state it as follows:
Aphorism XXIV.
Aphorism 24.
It is advisable to substitute definite single names for descriptive phrases as better instruments of thought.
It's better to use specific single names instead of descriptive phrases, as they're more effective for thinking.
It will be recollected by the reader that in the case of the Linnæan reform of the botanical nomenclature of species, this was one of the great improvements which was introduced.
It will be remembered by the reader that in the case of the Linnæan reform of the botanical naming of species, this was one of the significant improvements that were introduced.
Again: some of the first of the terms which Mr. Owen proposes illustrate, and confirm by their manifest claim 353 to acceptance, a maxim which we stated as Aphorism XXII.: namely, When alterations in technical terms become necessary, it is desirable that the new term should contain in its form some memorial of the old one.
Again: some of the first terms that Mr. Owen proposes illustrate and clearly support a principle we stated as Aphorism XXII.: namely, when changes in technical terms are needed, it’s best if the new term retains some element of the old one. 353
Thus for ‘basilaire,’ which Cuvier exclusively applies to the ‘pars basilaris’ of the occiput, and which Geoffroy as exclusively applies (in birds) to the ‘pars basilaris’ of the sphenoid, Mr. Owen substitutes the term basioccipital.
Thus for ‘basilaire,’ which Cuvier exclusively applies to the ‘pars basilaris’ of the occiput, and which Geoffroy also applies (in birds) to the ‘pars basilaris’ of the sphenoid, Mr. Owen replaces it with the term basioccipital.
Again: for the term ‘suroccipital’ of Geoffroy, Mr. Owen proposes paroccipital, to avoid confusion and false suggestion: and with reference to this word, he makes a remark in agreement with what we have said in the discussion of Aphorism XXI.: namely, that the combination of different languages in the derivation of words, though to be avoided in general, is in some cases admissible. He says, ‘If the purists who are distressed by such harmless hybrids as “mineralogy,” “terminology,” and “mammalogy,” should protest against the combination of the Greek prefix to the Latin noun, I can only plead that servility to a particular source of the fluctuating sounds of vocal language is a matter of taste: and that it seems no unreasonable privilege to use such elements as the servants of thought; and in the interests of science to combine them, even though they come from different countries, when the required duty is best and most expeditiously performed by their combination.’
Again: for the term ‘suroccipital’ used by Geoffroy, Mr. Owen suggests paroccipital to prevent confusion and misleading implications. Regarding this term, he makes a point that aligns with our discussion in Aphorism XXI.: specifically, that mixing different languages in deriving words should generally be avoided but can be acceptable in certain instances. He states, ‘If the purists who are upset by seemingly innocuous hybrids like “mineralogy,” “terminology,” and “mammalogy” were to object to using a Greek prefix with a Latin noun, I can only argue that being overly obedient to a specific source of the ever-changing sounds of spoken language is a matter of personal preference. It seems reasonable to use such elements as tools for thought; and in the interest of science, to combine them—even if they originate from different languages—when it serves the purpose best and most efficiently.’
So again we have illustrations of our Aphorism XII., that if terms are systematically good they are not to be rejected because they are etymologically inaccurate. In reference to that bone of the skull which has commonly been called vomer, the ploughshare: a term which Geoffroy rejected, but which Mr. Owen retains, he says, ‘When Geoffrey was induced to reject the term vomer as being applicable only to the peculiar form of the bone in a small portion of the vertebrata, he appears not to have considered that the old term, in its wider application, would be used without reference to its primary allusion to the ploughshare, and that becoming, as it 354 has, a purely arbitrary term, it is superior and preferable to any partially descriptive one.’
So once again we have examples of our Aphorism XII., showing that if terms are generally effective, they shouldn't be dismissed just because their origins are incorrect. Regarding that bone in the skull that has commonly been called vomer, meaning the ploughshare: a term that Geoffroy dismissed but Mr. Owen still uses. He states, ‘When Geoffroy decided to reject the term vomer because he thought it only applied to the specific shape of the bone in a small part of the vertebrates, he seems to have overlooked that the old term, in a broader sense, could be used without any connection to its original reference to the ploughshare. As it has become a completely arbitrary term, it is better and more appropriate than any partially descriptive one.’ 354
Another condition which I have mentioned in Aphorism XX., as valuable in technical terms is, that they should be susceptible of such grammatical relations as their scientific use requires.
Another condition that I mentioned in Aphorism XX., which is valuable in technical terms, is that they should be able to have the grammatical relationships that their scientific use requires.
This is, in fact, one of the grounds of the Aphorism which we have already borrowed from Mr. Owen, that we are to prefer single substantives to descriptive phrases. For from such substantives we can derive adjectives, and other forms; and thus the term becomes, as Mr. Owen says, a better instrument of thought. Hence, he most consistently mentions it as a recommendation of his system of names, that by them the results of a long series of investigations into the special homologies of the bones of the head are expressed in simple and definite terms, capable of every requisite inflection to express the proportion of the parts.
This is actually one of the key points of the Aphorism we’ve already taken from Mr. Owen, that we should prefer single nouns over descriptive phrases. From these nouns, we can create adjectives and other forms; and so the term becomes, as Mr. Owen puts it, a better instrument of thought. Therefore, he consistently highlights it as a recommendation of his naming system, which expresses the results of extensive research into the specific similarities of the bones in the head using simple and clear terms, capable of every necessary inflection to show the proportions of the parts.
I may also, in reference to this same passage in Mr. Owen’s appeal in behalf of his terminology, repeat what I have said under Aphorism X.: that the persons who may most properly propose new scientific terms, are those who have much new knowledge to communicate: so that the vehicle is commended to general reception by the value of what it contains. It is only to eminent discoverers and profound philosophers that the authority is conceded of introducing a new system of terms; just as it is only the highest authority in the state which has the power of putting a new coinage into circulation. The long series of investigations of which the results are contained in Mr. Owen’s table of synonyms, and the philosophical spirit of his generalizations, entitles him to a most respectful hearing when he appeals to the Professors and Demonstrators of Human Anatomy for an unbiassed consideration of the advantages of the terms proposed by him, as likely to remedy the conflicting and unsettled synonymy which has hitherto pervaded the subject.
I can also, regarding this same part of Mr. Owen’s appeal for his terminology, repeat what I mentioned in Aphorism X.: the people who are best suited to propose new scientific terms are those who have significant new knowledge to share. This ensures that the new terms are recognized by their valuable content. Only prominent discoverers and deep thinkers have the authority to introduce a new system of terms, similar to how only the highest government authority can authorize a new currency to be put into circulation. The extensive investigations reflected in Mr. Owen’s table of synonyms, along with the philosophical nature of his generalizations, give him a strong reason to be respectfully heard as he asks the Professors and Demonstrators of Human Anatomy for an unbiased evaluation of the benefits of the terms he proposes, aimed at addressing the conflicting and unsettled synonyms that have historically been part of this topic.
There is another remark which is suggested by the works on Comparative Anatomy, which I am now considering. I have said in various places that Technical 355 Terms are a necessary condition of the progress of a science. But we may say much more than this: and the remark is so important, that it deserves to be stated as one of our Aphorisms, as follows:
There’s another point raised by the works on Comparative Anatomy that I’m currently looking at. I’ve mentioned in different contexts that technical terms are essential for the advancement of a science. But we can say even more than that: this point is so significant that it should be presented as one of our aphorisms, as follows:
Aphorism XXV.
Aphorism XXV.
In an advanced Science, the history of the Language of the Science is the history of the Science itself.
In an advanced science, the history of the language of the science is the history of the science itself.
I have already stated in previous Aphorisms (VIII. and XI.) that Terms must be constructed so as to be fitted to enunciate general propositions, and that Terms which imply theoretical views are admissible for this purpose. And hence it happens that the history of Terms in any science which has gone through several speculative stages, is really the history of the generalizations and theories which have had currency among the cultivators of the science.
I have already mentioned in earlier Aphorisms (VIII. and XI.) that terms need to be created in a way that allows them to express general ideas, and that terms suggesting theoretical viewpoints are suitable for this. As a result, the history of terms in any science that has undergone multiple speculative phases essentially reflects the history of the generalizations and theories that have been accepted by those studying the science.
This appears in Comparative Anatomy from what we have been saying. The recent progress of that science is involved in the rise and currency of the Terms which have been used by the anatomists whose synonyms Mr. Owen has to discuss; and the reasons for selecting among these, or inventing others, include those truths and generalizations which are the important recent steps of the science. The terms which are given by Mr. Owen in his table to denote the bones of the head are good terms, if they are good terms, because their adoption and use is the only complete way of expressing the truths of homology: namely, of that Special Homology, according to which all vertebrate skeletons are referred to the human skeleton as their type, and have their parts designated accordingly.
This is discussed in Comparative Anatomy based on what we've been saying. The recent advancements in that field are connected to the emergence and popularity of the terms used by anatomists, which Mr. Owen needs to address. The reasons for choosing among these terms or creating new ones involve the important truths and generalizations that represent recent progress in the science. The terms Mr. Owen provides in his table to refer to the bones of the head are valid terms, if they are valid terms, because their adoption and usage is the only comprehensive way to convey the truths of homology: specifically, the Special Homology, where all vertebrate skeletons are compared to the human skeleton as their standard, with their parts named accordingly.
But further: there is another kind of homology which Mr. Owen calls General Homology, according to which the primary type of a vertebrate animal is merely a series of vertebræ; and all limbs and other appendages are only developements of the parts of one or another of the vertebræ. And in order to express this view, and in proportion as the doctrine has become current amongst 356 anatomists, the parts of vertebræ have been described by terms of a degree of generality which admit of such an interpretation. And here, also, Mr. Owen has proposed a terminology for the parts of the vertebræ, which seems to convey more systematically and comprehensively than those of preceding writers the truths to which they have been tending. Each vertebra is composed of a centrum, neurapophysis, parapophysis, pleurapophysis, hæmaphysis, neural spine and hæmal spine, with certain exogenous parts.
But additionally, there’s another type of homology that Mr. Owen refers to as General Homology. According to this concept, the basic structure of a vertebrate animal consists merely of a series of vertebrae, and all limbs and other attachments are just developments of various parts of these vertebrae. To articulate this perspective, and as this idea has gained traction among 356 anatomists, the components of vertebrae have been described using terms that are general enough to allow for this interpretation. Mr. Owen has also suggested a terminology for vertebral parts that seems to offer a more organized and comprehensive understanding of the truths that earlier writers have been exploring. Each vertebra is made up of a centrum, neurapophysis, parapophysis, pleurapophysis, hæmaphysis, neural spine, and hæmal spine, along with certain external parts.
The opinion that the head, as well as the other parts of the frame of vertebrates, is composed of vertebræ, is now generally accepted among philosophical anatomists. In the History (Hist. I. S. b. xvii. c. 7, sect. 1), I have mentioned this opinion as proposed by some writers; and I have stated that Oken, in 1807 published a ‘Program’ On the signification of the bones of the Skull, in which he maintained, that these bones are equivalent to four vertebræ: while Meckel, Spix, and Geoffroy took views somewhat different. Cuvier and Agassiz opposed this doctrine, but Mr. Owen has in his Archetype and Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton (1848), accepted the views of Oken, and argued at length against the objections of Cuvier, and also those of Mr. Agassiz. As I have noted in the last edition of the History of the Inductive Sciences (b. xvii. c. 7), he gives a Table in which the Bones of the Head are resolved into four vertebræ, which he terms the Occipital, Parietal, Frontal and Nasal Vertebræ respectively: the neural arches of which agree with what Oken called the Ear-vertebra, the Jaw-vertebra, the Eye-vertebra, and the Nose-vertebra.
The idea that the head, along with other parts of the vertebrate body, is made up of vertebrae is now widely accepted among anatomical philosophers. In the History (Hist. I. S. b. xvii. c. 7, sect. 1), I mentioned this viewpoint as suggested by some authors; I also noted that Oken published a 'Program' in 1807 titled On the Significance of the Bones of the Skull, where he argued that these bones are equivalent to four vertebrae. Meanwhile, Meckel, Spix, and Geoffroy had slightly different perspectives. Cuvier and Agassiz opposed this theory, but Mr. Owen later accepted Oken's views in his Archetype and Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton (1848), providing a detailed argument against Cuvier’s and Mr. Agassiz's objections. As I pointed out in the latest edition of the History of the Inductive Sciences (b. xvii. c. 7), he includes a Table that breaks down the Bones of the Head into four vertebrae, which he calls the Occipital, Parietal, Frontal, and Nasal Vertebrae, respectively. The neural arches correspond to what Oken referred to as the Ear-vertebra, Jaw-vertebra, Eye-vertebra, and Nose-vertebra.
Besides these doctrines of Special Homology by which the bones of all vertebrates are referred to their corresponding bones in the human skeleton, and of General Homology, by which the bones are referred to the parts of vertebræ which they represent, Mr. Owen treats of Serial Homology, the recognition of the same elements throughout the series of segments of the same skeleton; as when we shew in what manner the arms correspond to the legs. And thus, he says, in the head also, the basioccipital, basisphenoid, presphenoid and vomer are 357 homotypes with the centrums of all succeeding vertebræ. The excoccipitals, alisphenoids, orbitosphenoids, and prefrontals, are homotypes with the neurapophyses of all the succeeding vertebræ. The paroccipitals, mactoids and postfrontals, with the transverse processes of all the succeeding vertebræ: and so on. Perhaps these examples may exemplify sufficiently for the general reader both Mr. Owen’s terminology, and the intimate manner in which it is connected with the widest generalizations to which anatomical philosophy has yet been led.
Besides these doctrines of Special Homology, which link the bones of all vertebrates to their corresponding bones in the human skeleton, and General Homology, which connects the bones to the parts of vertebrae they represent, Mr. Owen discusses Serial Homology, which is recognizing the same elements throughout the series of segments of the same skeleton; for instance, showing how the arms correspond to the legs. He also notes that in the head, the basioccipital, basisphenoid, presphenoid, and vomer are 357 homotypes with the centrums of all the following vertebrae. The excoccipitals, alisphenoids, orbitosphenoids, and prefrontals are homotypes with the neurapophyses of all the following vertebrae. The paroccipitals, mactoids, and postfrontals correspond to the transverse processes of all the following vertebrae, and so forth. Perhaps these examples are enough to illustrate both Mr. Owen’s terminology and how closely it is tied to the broad generalizations that anatomical philosophy has reached.
The same doctrine, that the history of the Language of a Science is the history of the Science, appears also in the recent progress of Chemistry; but we shall be better able to illustrate our Aphorism in this case by putting forward previously one or two other Aphorisms bearing upon the history of that Science.
The same principle, that the history of a Science's Language reflects the history of the Science itself, can also be seen in the recent advancements in Chemistry; however, we will better illustrate our statement by first introducing one or two additional statements related to the history of that Science.
Aphorism XXVI.
Aphorism 26.
In the Terminology of Science it may be necessary to employ letters, numbers, and algebraical symbols.
In scientific terminology, it may be necessary to use letters, numbers, and algebraic symbols.
1. Mineralogy.
Mineralogy.
I have already said, in Aphorism XV., that symbols have been found requisite as a part of the terminology of Mineralogy. The names proposed by Haüy, borrowed from the crystalline laws, were so inadequate and unsystematic that they could not be retained. He himself proposed a notation for crystalline forms, founded upon his principle of the derivation of such forms from a primitive form, by decrements, on its edges or its angles. To denote this derivation he took the first letters of the three syllables to mark the faces of the PriMiTive form, P, M, T; the vowels A, E, I, O to mark the angles; the consonants B, C, D, &c. to mark the edges; and numerical exponents, annexed in various positions to these letters, represented the law and manner of derivation. Thus when the primitive form was a cube, 1B represented the result of a derivation by a decrement of one row 358 on an edge; that is, a rhombic octahedron; and 1BP represented the combination of this octahedron with the primitive cube. In this way the pentagonal dodecahedron, produced by decrements of 2 to 1 on half the edges of the cube, was represented by B² ½C G² ²G
I've already mentioned, in Aphorism XV., that symbols have been necessary as part of the terminology of Mineralogy. The names suggested by Haüy, which were based on the principles of crystallography, were so inadequate and unorganized that they couldn't be kept. He himself proposed a notation for crystalline shapes, based on his idea that these shapes stemmed from a primitive form through decrements at its edges or angles. To represent this derivation, he took the first letters of the three syllables to denote the faces of the PriMiTive form, P, M, T; the vowels A, E, I, O to indicate the angles; the consonants B, C, D, etc., to mark the edges; and numerical exponents attached in various positions to these letters represented the law and manner of derivation. So when the primitive form was a cube, 1B represented the outcome of a derivation by reducing one row 358 on an edge; specifically, a rhombic octahedron; and 1BP represented the combination of this octahedron with the primitive cube. In this way, the pentagonal dodecahedron, created by reducing 2 to 1 on half the edges of the cube, was represented as B² ½C G² ²G
Not only, however, was the hypothesis of primitive forms and decrements untenable, but this notation was too unsystematic to stand long. And when Weiss and Mohs established the distinction of Systems of Crystallography66, they naturally founded upon that distinction a notation for crystalline forms. Mohs had several followers; but his algebraical notation so barbarously violated all algebraical meaning, that it was not likely to last. Thus, from a primitive rhombohedron which he designated by R, he derived, by a certain process, a series of other rhombohedrons, which he denoted by R + 1, R + 2, R − 1, &c.; and then, by another mode of derivation from them, he obtained forms which he marked as (R + 2)², (R + 2)³, &c. In doing this he used the algebraical marks of addition and involution without the smallest ground; besides many other proposals no less transgressing mathematical analogy and simplicity.
Not only was the idea of primitive forms and reductions not viable, but this notation was also too disorganized to last. When Weiss and Mohs defined the Systems of Crystallography66, they naturally created a notation for crystalline forms based on that distinction. Mohs had several followers; however, his algebraic notation was so poorly constructed that it was unlikely to endure. For example, from a primitive rhombohedron he labeled as R, he derived, through a certain process, a series of other rhombohedrons, which he represented as R + 1, R + 2, R - 1, etc.; and then, by another method of derivation, he obtained forms marked as (R + 2)², (R + 2)³, etc. In doing so, he used the algebraic symbols for addition and exponentiation without any valid basis, along with many other proposals that also violated mathematical consistency and simplicity.
But this notation might easily suggest a better. If we take a primitive form, we can generally, by two steps of derivation, each capable of numerical measure, obtain any possible face; and therefore any crystalline form bounded by such faces. Hence all that we need indicate in our crystalline laws is the primitive form, and two numerical exponents; and rejecting all superfluity in our symbols, instead of (R + 2)³ we might write 2 R 3. Nearly of this kind is the notation of Naumann. The systems of crystallization, the octahedral or tessular, the rhombic, and the prismatic, are marked by the letters O, R, P; and from these are derived, by certain laws, such symbols as
But this notation might suggest something better. If we take a basic form, we can generally derive any possible face in just two measurable steps, which allows us to obtain any crystalline shape bordered by those faces. Therefore, all we need to indicate in our crystalline laws is the basic form and two numerical exponents. By eliminating any unnecessary symbols, instead of (R + 2)³, we could simply write 2 R 3. Naumann's notation is quite similar to this. The crystallization systems—octahedral or cubic, rhombic, and prismatic—are denoted by the letters O, R, and P; and from these, certain symbols are derived through specific laws, such as
3 O ½, ∞ R 2, ½ P 2, 359
3 O ½, ∞ R 2, ½ P 2, 359
which have their definite signification flowing from the rules of the notation.
which have their clear meaning derived from the rules of the notation.
But Professor Miller, who has treated the subject of Crystallography in the most general and symmetrical manner, adopts the plan of marking each crystalline plane by three numerical indices. Thus in the Octahedral System, the cube is {100}; the octahedron is {111}; the rhombic dodecahedron is {011}; the pentagonal dodecahedron is π {012}; where π indicates that the form is not holohedral but hemihedral, only half the number of faces being taken which the law of derivation would give. This system is the most mathematically consistent, and affords the best means of calculation, as Professor Miller has shown; but there appears to be in it this defect, that though an essential part of the scheme is the division of crystalline forms into Systems,—the Octahedral, Pyramidal, Rhombohedral and Prismatic,—this division does not at all appear in the notation.
But Professor Miller, who has discussed Crystallography in a very thorough and balanced way, chooses to label each crystalline plane with three numerical indices. For example, in the Octahedral System, the cube is {100}; the octahedron is {111}; the rhombic dodecahedron is {011}; the pentagonal dodecahedron is π {012}; where π signifies that the shape is not holohedral but hemihedral, meaning only half the number of faces that the law of derivation would suggest are included. This system is the most mathematically consistent and provides the best means of calculation, as Professor Miller has demonstrated; however, it seems to have the flaw that, even though a key component of the approach is the classification of crystalline forms into Systems—namely the Octahedral, Pyramidal, Rhombohedral, and Prismatic—this classification is not reflected in the notation at all.
But whatever be the notation which the crystallographer adopts, it is evident that he must employ some notation; and that, without it, he will be unable to express the forms and relations of forms with which he has to deal.
But no matter what notation the crystallographer decides to use, it's clear that he has to use some kind of notation; without it, he won't be able to express the shapes and relationships of the shapes he needs to work with.
2. Chemistry.
2. Chemistry
The same has long been the case in Chemistry. As I have stated elsewhere67, the chemical nomenclature of the oxygen theory was for a time very useful and effective. But yet it had defects which could not be overlooked, as I have already stated under Aphorism II. The relations of elements were too numerous, and their numerical properties too important, to be expressed by terminations and other modifications of words. Thus the compounds of Nitrogen and Oxygen are the Protoxide, the Deutoxide, Nitrous Acid, Peroxide of Nitrogen, Nitric Acid. The systematic nomenclature here, even thus loosely extended, does not express our knowledge. And the Atomic Theory, when established, brought to view numerical 360 relations which it was very important to keep in sight. If N represents Nitrogen and O Oxygen, the compounds of the two elements just mentioned might be denoted by N + O, N + 2O, N + 3O, N + 4O, N + 5O. And by adopting a letter for each of the elementary substances, all the combinations of them might be expressed in this manner.
The same has long been true in Chemistry. As I have mentioned elsewhere 67, the chemical naming system based on the oxygen theory was quite useful and effective for a time. However, it had flaws that couldn't be ignored, as I already pointed out under Aphorism II.. The relationships between elements were too many, and their numerical properties were too significant to be represented by suffixes and other changes to words. For instance, the compounds of Nitrogen and Oxygen are Protoxide, Deutoxide, Nitrous Acid, Peroxide of Nitrogen, and Nitric Acid. Even this loosely extended systematic naming doesn’t capture our understanding. When the Atomic Theory was established, it highlighted numerical relationships that were very important to keep in mind. If N stands for Nitrogen and O for Oxygen, the compounds of these two elements could be represented as N + O, N + 2O, N + 3O, N + 4O, and N + 5O. By using a letter for each element, we could express all their combinations this way.
But in chemistry there are different orders of combination. A salt, for instance, is a compound of a base and an acid, each of which is already compound. If Fe be iron and C be carbon, Fe + O will be the protoxide of iron, and C + 2O will be carbonic acid; and the carbonate of iron (more properly carbonate of protoxide of iron), may be represented by
But in chemistry, there are different ways to combine elements. A salt, for example, is a compound made of a base and an acid, both of which are already compounds. If Fe is iron and C is carbon, then Fe + O will be iron(II) oxide, and C + 2O will be carbonic acid; and the iron carbonate (more accurately, iron(II) carbonate) can be represented by
(Fe + O) + (C + 2O)
(Fe + O) + (C + 2O)
where the brackets indicate the first stage of composition.
where the brackets show the initial phase of writing.
But these brackets and signs of addition, in complex cases, would cumber the page in an inconvenient degree; and oxygen is of such very wide occurrence, that it seems desirable to abridge the notation so far as it is concerned. Hence Berzelius proposed68 that in the first stage of composition the oxygen should be expressed by dots over the letter; and thus the carbonate of iron would be Ḟe + C̈. But Berzelius further introduced into his notation indexes such as in algebra denote involution to the square, cube, &c. Thus Cu being copper, the sulphate of copper is represented by S⃛²C̈u. This notation, when first proposed, was strongly condemned by English chemists, and Berzelius’s reply to them may be taken as stating the reasons in favour of such notation. He says69, ‘We answer to the opponents, that undoubtedly the matter may be looked at in various lights. The use of Formulæ has always, for a person who has not accustomed himself to them, something repulsive; but this is easy to overcome. I agree with my opponent, 361 who says that nothing can be understood in a Formula which cannot be expressed in words; and that if the words express it as easily as the Formula, the use of the latter would be a folly. But there are cases in which this is not so; in which the Formula says in a glance what it would take many lines to express in words; and in which the expression of the Formula is clearer and more easily apprehended by the reader than the longer description in words. Let us examine such a Formula, and compare it with the equivalent description in words. Take, for example, crystallized sulphate of copper, of which the Formula is
But these brackets and signs of addition can clutter the page too much in complex cases; and since oxygen is so commonly found, it makes sense to simplify the notation for it. So, Berzelius proposed that in the first stage of composition, oxygen should be represented by dots over the letter; thus, the carbonate of iron would be Ḟe + C̈. Additionally, Berzelius introduced indexes in his notation, similar to how algebra denotes squares, cubes, etc. Therefore, Cu, for copper, leads to the sulphate of copper being represented as S⃛²C̈u. When this notation was first proposed, English chemists strongly criticized it, and Berzelius’s response to them can be seen as outlining the reasons supporting such notation. He states, 'We respond to the opponents that the matter can indeed be viewed from different perspectives. The use of formulas often seems off-putting to someone unaccustomed to them, but that can be easily overcome. I agree with my opponent, 361 who says that nothing expressed in a formula can’t also be articulated in words; and that if the words convey the idea as clearly as the formula, using the latter would be pointless. However, there are instances where this isn’t the case; where the formula conveys in an instant what would take many lines to express in words; and where the formula’s expression is clearer and more readily understood by the reader than the longer verbal description. Let’s look at such a formula and compare it with the equivalent description in words. For example, crystallized sulphate of copper, which has the formula
C̈uS⃛² + 10H² O.
C̈uS⃛² + 10H²O.
Now this Formula expresses the following propositions:
‘That the salt consists of one atom of copper-oxide
combined with 2 atoms of sulphuric acid and with 10
atoms of water; that the copper-oxide contains two
atoms of oxygen; and that the sulphuric acid contains
3 atoms of oxygen for one atom of sulphur; that its
oxygen is three times as much as that of the oxide;
and that the number of atoms of oxygen in the acid is
6; and that the number of atoms of oxygen in the
water is 10; that is, 5 times the number in the oxide;
and that finally the salt contains, of simple atoms, 1
copper, 2 sulphur, 20 hydrogen, and 18 oxygen.
Now, this formula represents the following statements:
‘The salt is made up of one atom of copper-oxide, combined with 2 atoms of sulfuric acid and 10 atoms of water; the copper-oxide has two atoms of oxygen; and the sulfuric acid has 3 atoms of oxygen for every atom of sulfur; its oxygen amount is three times that of the oxide; the total number of oxygen atoms in the acid is 6; the number of oxygen atoms in the water is 10, which is 5 times that in the oxide; and finally, the salt contains, in terms of simple atoms, 1 copper, 2 sulfur, 20 hydrogen, and 18 oxygen.
‘Since so much is expressed in this brief Formula, how very long would the explanation be for a more composite body, for example, Alum; for which the Formula is
‘Since this brief formula conveys so much, just imagine how lengthy the explanation would be for a more complex substance, like Alum; for which the formula is
K̈ S⃛² + 2A⃛l S⃛³ + 48H² O.
K̈ S⃛² + 2A⃛l S⃛³ + 48H² O.
It would take half a page to express all which this Formula contains.
It would take half a page to convey everything this Formula includes.
‘Perhaps it may be objected that it is seldom that any one wants to know all this at once. But it might reasonably be said in reply, that the peculiar value of the Formula consists in this, that it contains answers to all the questions which can be asked with regard to the composition of the body. 362
‘Some might argue that it’s rare for someone to want to know all of this at once. However, it could be reasonably replied that the unique value of the Formula lies in the fact that it provides answers to all the questions that can be asked about the body’s composition. 362
‘But these Formulæ have also another application, of which I have sometimes had occasion to make use. Experiments sometimes bring before us combinations which cannot be foreseen from the nomenclature, and for which it is not always easy to find a consistent and appropriate name. In writing, the Formula may be applied instead of a Name: and the reader understands it better than if one made a new name. In my treatise upon the sulphuretted alkalies I found Degrees of Sulphur-combination, for which Nomenclature has no name. I expressed them, for example, by KS6, KS8, KS10 and I believed that every one understood what was thereby meant. Moreover, I found another class of bodies in which an electro-negative sulphuretted metal played the part of an Acid with respect to an electro-positive sulphuretted metal, for which a whole new nomenclature was needed; while yet it were not prudent to construct such a nomenclature, till more is known on the subject. Instead of new names I used formulas; for example,
‘But these formulas also have another use that I sometimes draw on. Experiments can reveal combinations that aren't predictable from the naming system, and it's not always easy to find a consistent and fitting name for them. In writing, the formula can be used in place of a name, and readers usually understand it better than if I created a new name. In my work on the sulphuretted alkalies, I encountered degrees of sulphur combination that the naming system lacks names for. I represented these, for example, as KS6, KS8, KS10 and I believed everyone understood what that meant. Additionally, I discovered another category of substances where an electro-negative sulphuretted metal acted like an acid towards an electro-positive sulphuretted metal, which would require a completely new naming system; however, it would be unwise to create such a system until more is known about the topic. Instead of coming up with new names, I used formulas; for example,
KS² + 2As S³,
KS² + 2As S³,
instead of saying the combination of 2 atoms of Sulphuret of Arsenic containing 3 atoms of Sulphur, with one atom of Sulphuret of Potassium (Kali) with the least dose of sulphur.’
instead of saying the combination of 2 atoms of Arsenic Sulfide containing 3 atoms of Sulfur, with one atom of Potassium Sulfide (Kali) with the smallest amount of sulfur.’
Berzelius goes on to say that the English chemists had found themselves unable to find any substitutes for his formulæ when they translated his papers.
Berzelius continues by stating that the English chemists were unable to find any substitutes for his formulas when they translated his papers.
Our English chemists have not generally adopted the notation of oxygen by dots; but have employed commas or full stops and symbols (, or . and +), to denote various degrees of union, and numerical indices. Thus the double sulphate of copper and potash is Cu O, SO3 + KO, SO3.
Our English chemists haven't really adopted the dot notation for oxygen; instead, they've used commas, periods, and symbols (, or . and +) to indicate different levels of bonding and numerical indices. So, the double sulfate of copper and potash is Cu O, SO3 + KO, SO3.
What has been said is applicable mainly to inorganic bodies (as salts and minerals)70. In these bodies there is (at least according to the views of many intelligent chemists) a binary plan of combination, union taking 363 place between pairs of elements, and the compounds so produced again uniting themselves to other compound bodies in the same manner. Thus, in the above example, copper and oxygen combine into oxide of copper, potassium and oxygen into potash, sulphur and oxygen into sulphuric acid; sulphuric acid in its turn combines both with oxide of copper and oxide of potassium, generating a pair of salts which are capable of uniting to form the double compound Cu O, SO3 + KO, SO3.
What has been said mainly applies to inorganic substances (like salts and minerals)70. In these substances, there is (at least according to the views of many knowledgeable chemists) a binary combination method, where 363 pairs of elements join together, and the compounds formed then combine with other compounds in the same way. So, in the example above, copper and oxygen combine to form copper oxide, potassium and oxygen form potash, and sulfur and oxygen create sulfuric acid; sulfuric acid then combines with both copper oxide and potassium oxide, resulting in a pair of salts that can unite to form the double compound Cu O, SO3 + KO, SO3.
The most complicated products of inorganic chemistry may be thus shown to be built up by this repeated pairing on the part of their constituents. But with organic bodies the case is remarkably different; no such arrangement can here be traced. In sugar, which is C12 H11 O11, or morphia71, which is C35 H20 NO6, the elements are as it were bound together into a single whole, which can enter into combination with other substances, and be thence discharged with properties unaltered; the elements not being obviously arranged in any subordinate groups. Hence the symbols for those substances are such as I have given above, no marks of combination being used.
The most complex products of inorganic chemistry can be shown to be formed by continually pairing their components. However, with organic substances, the situation is quite different; no such organization can be found here. In sugar, which is C12 H11 O11, or morphine71, which is C35 H20 NO6, the elements are essentially linked together into a single unit. This unit can combine with other substances and can be released with its properties unchanged, without the elements being clearly arranged in any smaller groups. Therefore, the symbols for these substances are as I've listed above, without any signs of combination being used.
It is perhaps a consequence of this peculiarity that organic compounds are unstable in comparison with inorganic. In unorganic substances generally the elements are combined in such a way that the most powerful affinities are satisfied72, and hence arises a state of very considerable permanence and durability. But in an organic substance containing three or four elements, there are often opposing affinities nearly balanced, and when one of these tendencies by some accident obtains a preponderance and the equilibrium is destroyed, then the organic body breaks up into two or more new bodies of simpler and more permanent constitution.
It might be a result of this characteristic that organic compounds are unstable compared to inorganic ones. In inorganic substances, the elements are generally combined in a way that satisfies the strongest affinities, leading to a state of significant permanence and durability. However, in an organic substance with three or four elements, there are often opposing affinities that are almost balanced. When one of these tendencies accidentally becomes stronger and disrupts the equilibrium, the organic compound breaks down into two or more new substances that are simpler and more stable.
There is another property of many organic substances which is called the Law of Substitution. The 364 Hydrogen of the organic substance may often be replaced by Chlorine, Bromine, Iodine, or some other elements, without the destruction of the primitive type or constitution of the compound so modified. And this substitution may take place by several successive steps, giving rise to a series of substitution-compounds, which depart more and more in properties from the original substance. This Law also gives rise to a special notation. Thus a certain compound called Dutch liquid has the elements C4 H4 Cl2: but this substance is affected by chlorine (Cl) in obedience to the law of substitution; one and two equivalents of hydrogen being successively removed by the prolonged action of chlorine gas aided by sunshine. The successive products may be thus written
There’s another property of many organic substances known as the Law of Substitution. The 364 hydrogen in organic substances can often be replaced by chlorine, bromine, iodine, or other elements without destroying the original structure or composition of the compound being modified. This substitution can happen in several steps, leading to a series of substitution compounds that increasingly differ in properties from the original substance. This law also introduces a specific notation. For example, a compound called Dutch liquid has the elements C4 H4 Cl2: but this substance can undergo changes due to chlorine (Cl) according to the law of substitution; one or two equivalents of hydrogen are gradually removed through the extended action of chlorine gas assisted by sunlight. The subsequent products can be written as follows.
C4 H4 Cl2; C4 { H3Cl } Cl2; C4 { H2Cl2 } Cl2.
C4 H4 Cl2; C4 { H3Cl } Cl2; C4 { H2Cl2 } Cl2.
Perhaps at a future period, chemical symbols, and especially those of organic bodies, may be made more systematic and more significant than they at present are.
Perhaps in the future, chemical symbols, especially those for organic compounds, could become more systematic and meaningful than they currently are.
Aphorism XXVII.
Aphorism 27.
In using algebraical symbols as a part of scientific language, violations of algebraical analogy are to be avoided, but may be admitted when necessary.
When using algebraic symbols in scientific language, it's important to avoid breaking algebraic rules, although exceptions can be made when necessary.
As we must in scientific language conform to etymology, so must we to algebra; and as we are not to make ourselves the slaves of the former, so also, not to the latter. Hence we reject such crystallographical notation as that of Mohs; and in chemistry we use C2, O3 rather than C2, O3, which signify the square of C and the cube of O. But we may use, as we have said, both the comma and the sign of addition, for chemical combination, for the sake of brevity, though both steps of combination are really addition. 365
As we must in scientific language stick to etymology, we also must do the same with algebra; and just as we shouldn't make ourselves slaves to the former, we shouldn't to the latter either. Therefore, we reject notation like that of Mohs in crystallography; in chemistry, we prefer C2, O3 over C2, O3, since the latter imply the square of C and the cube of O. However, as we've mentioned, we can use both the comma and the plus sign for chemical combinations for the sake of brevity, even though both steps of combination are essentially addition. 365 Days
Aphorism XXVIII.
Aphorism 28.
In a complex science, which is in a state of transition, capricious and detached derivations of terms are common; but are not satisfactory.
In a complicated field of science that's changing, unpredictable and disjointed uses of terms are common; however, they are not satisfactory.
In this remark I have especial reference to Chemistry; in which the discoveries made, especially in organic chemistry, and the difficulty of reducing them to a system, have broken up in several instances the old nomenclature, without its being possible at present to construct a new set of terms systematically connected. Hence it has come to pass that chemists have constructed words in a capricious and detached way: as by taking fragments of words, and the like. I shall give some examples of such derivations, and also of some attempts which have more of a systematic character.
In this comment, I'm specifically talking about Chemistry; where the discoveries, especially in organic chemistry, and the challenge of organizing them into a coherent system, have, in many cases, disrupted the old naming conventions. Right now, it’s not possible to create a new set of terms that are systematically connected. As a result, chemists have been creating terms randomly and independently, like by piecing together fragments of words and similar things. I will provide some examples of these kinds of word formations, as well as some attempts that are more systematic.
I have mentioned (Aph. XX. sect. 7) the word Ellagic (acid), made by inverting the word Galle. Several words have recently been formed by chemists by taking syllables from two or more different words. Thus Chevreul discovered a substance to which he gave the name Ethal, from the first syllables of the words ether and alcohol, because of its analogy to those liquids in point of composition73. So Liebig has the word chloral74.
I mentioned (Aph. XX. sect. 7) the term Ellagic (acid), which comes from flipping the word Galle. Recently, chemists have created several new terms by combining syllables from two or more different words. For example, Chevreul discovered a substance he named Ethal, using the first syllables of the words ether and alcohol, due to its similarity to those liquids in composition73. Similarly, Liebig coined the term chloral74.
Liebig, examining the product of distillation of alcohol, sulphuric acid and amber, found a substance which he termed Aldehyd, from the words Alcohol dehydrogenated75. This mode of making Words has been strongly objected to by Mr. Dumas76. Still more has he objected to the word Mercaptan (of Zeise), which 366 he says rests upon a mere play of words; for it means both mercurium captans and mercurio aptum.
Liebig, while studying the product of distilling alcohol, sulfuric acid, and amber, discovered a substance he called Aldehyd, derived from the words Alcohol dehydrogenated75. This way of creating words has been strongly criticized by Mr. Dumas76. He has also strongly objected to the term Mercaptan (from Zeise), which, according to him, relies on a mere play on words; it means both mercurium captans and mercurio aptum.
Dumas and Peligot, working on pyroligneous acids, found reason to believe the existence of a substance77 which they called methylene, deriving the name from methy, a spirituous fluid, and hyle, wood. Berzelius remarks that the name should rather be methyl, and that ὕλη may be taken in its signification of matter, to imply the Radical of Wine: and he proposes that the older Æther-Radical, C4 H10 shall be called Æthyl, the newer, C2 H6, Methyl.
Dumas and Peligot, while studying pyroligneous acids, had reason to believe in the existence of a substance77 which they named methylene, deriving the name from methy, a spirit-like fluid, and hyle, wood. Berzelius commented that the name should actually be methyl, and suggested that matter could be interpreted as meaning matter, referring to the Radical of Wine. He proposed that the older Æther-Radical, C4 H10 should be called Æthyl, and the newer C₂H₆, Methyl.
This notion of marking by the termination yl the hypothetical compound radical of a series of chemical compounds has been generally adopted; and, as we see from the above reference, it must be regarded as representing the Greek word ὕλη: and such hypothetical radicals of bases have been termed in general basyls.
This idea of using the ending yl to denote the hypothetical compound radical in a series of chemical compounds has been widely accepted; and, as noted in the previous reference, it should be seen as representing the Greek word matter: these hypothetical radicals of bases are generally referred to as basyls.
Bunsen obtained from Cadet’s fuming liquid a substance which he called Alkarsin (alkali-arsenic?): and the substance produced from this by oxidation he called Alkargen78. Berzelius was of opinion, that the true view of its composition was that it contained a compound ternary radical = C6 H12 As2, after the manner of organic bodies; and he proposed for this the name79 Kakodyl. Alkarsin is Kakodyl-oxyd, K̇d, Alkargen is Kakodyl-acid, K̈̇d.
Bunsen obtained a substance from Cadet’s fuming liquid, which he named Alkarsin (alkali-arsenic?). The substance produced from this through oxidation was called Alkargen78. Berzelius believed that the correct interpretation of its composition was that it contained a compound ternary radical = C6 H12 As2, similar to organic compounds; and he suggested the name79 Kakodyl. Alkarsin is Kakodyl-oxyd, K̇d, and Alkargen is Kakodyl-acid, K̈̇d.
The discovery of Kakodyl was the first instance of the insulation of an organic metallic basyl80.
The discovery of Kakodyl was the first time an organic metal compound was isolated.
The first of the Hydrocarbon Radicals of the Alcohols was the radical of Tetrylic alcohol obtained by Kolbe from Valerate of Potash, and hence called Valyl C16 H18. Chloroform is perchloride of formyl, the hypothetical radical of formic acid81.
The first Hydrocarbon Radical of the Alcohols was the radical of Tetrylic alcohol, which Kolbe obtained from Potash Valerate, and is therefore called Valyl C16 H18. Chloroform is the perchloride of formyl, the theoretical radical of formic acid81.
The discovery of such bases goes back to 1815. The substance formerly called Prussiate of Mercury, being treated in a particular manner, was resolved into metallic mercury and Cyanogen. This substance, Cyanogen, is, according to the older nomenclature, Bicarburet of Nitrogen; but chemists are agreed that its most convenient name is Cyanogen, proposed by its discoverer, Gay-Lussac, in 181582. The importance of the discovery consists in this; that this substance was the first compound body which was distinctly proved to enter into combination with elementary substances in a manner similar to that in which they combine with each other.
The discovery of these bases dates back to 1815. The substance previously known as Prussiate of Mercury, when processed in a specific way, was broken down into metallic mercury and Cyanogen. This substance, Cyanogen, was referred to as Bicarburet of Nitrogen in older terminology; however, chemists agree that its most practical name is Cyanogen, which was proposed by its discoverer, Gay-Lussac, in 181582. The significance of this discovery lies in the fact that this substance was the first compound that was clearly shown to combine with elemental substances in a way that's similar to how they combine with each other.
The truth of our Aphorism (XXV.) that in such a science as chemistry, the history of the scientific nomenclature is the history of the science, appears from this; that the controversies with respect to chemical theories and their application take the form of objections to the common systematic names and proposals of new names instead. Thus a certain compound of potassa, sulphur, hydrogen, and oxygen, may be regarded either as Hydrosulphate of Potassa, or as Sulphide of Potassium in solution, according to different views83. In some cases indeed, changes are made merely for the sake of clearness. Instead of Hydrochloric and Hydrocyanic acid, many French writers, following Thenard, transpose the elements of these terms; they speak of Chlorhydric and Cyanhydric acid; by this means they avoid any ambiguity which might arise from the use of the prefix Hydro, which has sometimes been applied to compounds which contain water84.
The truth of our Aphorism (XXV.) that in a field like chemistry, the history of scientific names is the history of the science, is evident from this; the debates regarding chemical theories and their applications often take the form of objections to established systematic names and suggestions for new ones. For instance, a certain compound made up of potassium, sulfur, hydrogen, and oxygen can be seen as Hydrosulfate of Potassium, or as Sulfide of Potassium in solution, depending on different interpretations83. In some cases, changes are made solely for clarity. Instead of Hydrochloric and Hydrocyanic acid, many French writers, following Thenard, rearrange the elements of these names; they refer to Chlorhydric and Cyanhydric acid; this way, they eliminate any confusion that might arise from the prefix Hydro, which has sometimes been used for compounds that contain water84.
An incompleteness in chemical nomenclature was further felt, when it appeared, from the properties of various substances, that mere identity in chemical composition is not sufficient to produce identity of chemical character or properties85. The doctrine of 368 the existence of compounds identical in ultimate composition, but different in chemical properties, was termed Isomerism. Thus chemists enumerate the following compounds, all of which contain carbon and hydrogen in the proportion of single equivalents of each86;—Methylene, Olefiant gas, Propylene, Oil gas, Amylene, Caproylene, Naphthene, Eleene, Peramylene, Cetylene, Cerotylene, Melissine.
An incompleteness in chemical naming became more apparent when it was observed, based on the properties of different substances, that having the same chemical composition doesn't guarantee the same chemical character or properties85. The idea that there are compounds which are identical in ultimate composition but differ in chemical properties was called Isomerism. Chemists have identified the following compounds, all of which contain carbon and hydrogen in the ratio of single equivalents of each86;—Methylene, Olefiant gas, Propylene, Oil gas, Amylene, Caproylene, Naphthene, Eleene, Peramylene, Cetylene, Cerotylene, Melissine.
I will, in the last place, propound an Aphorism which has already offered itself in considering the history of Chemistry87 as having a special bearing upon that Science, but which may be regarded as the supreme and ultimate rule with regard to the language of Science.
I will, finally, present an aphorism that has already come up while looking at the history of Chemistry87 as being particularly relevant to that field, but which can also be seen as the fundamental and ultimate guideline concerning the language of Science.
Aphorism XXIX.
Aphorism 29.
In learning the meaning of Scientific Terms, the history of science is our Dictionary: the steps of scientific induction are our Definitions.
In learning the meaning of scientific terms, the history of science is our dictionary: the steps of scientific reasoning are our definitions.
It is usual for unscientific readers to complain that the technical terms which they meet with in books of science are not accompanied by plain definitions such as they can understand. But such definitions cannot be given. For definitions must consist of words; and, in the case of scientific terms, must consist of words which require again to be defined: and so on, without limit. Elementary substances in chemistry, for instance, what are they? The substances into which bodies can be analysed, and by the junction of which they are composed. But what is analysis? what is composition? We have seen that it required long and laborious courses of experiment to answer these questions; and that finally the balance decided among rival answers. And so it is in other cases. In entering upon each science, we come upon a new set of words. And how are we to learn 369 the meaning of this collection of words? In what other language shall it be explained? In what terms shall we define these new expressions? To this we are compelled to reply, that we cannot translate these terms into any ordinary or familiar language. Here, as in all other branches of knowledge, the meaning of words is to be sought in the progress of thought. It is only by going back through the successful researches of men respecting the composition and elements of bodies, that we can learn in what sense such terms can be understood, so as to convey real knowledge. In order that they may have a meaning for us, we must inquire what meaning they had in the minds of the authors of our discoveries. And the same is the case in other subjects. To take the instance of Morphology. When the beginner is told that every group of animals may be reduced to an Archetype, he will seek for a definition of Archetype. Such a definition has been offered, to this effect: the Archetype of a group of animals is a diagram embodying all the organs and parts which are found in the group in such a relative position as they would have had if none had attained an excessive development. But, then, we are led further to ask, How are we in each case to become acquainted with the diagram; to know of what parts it consists, and how they are related; and further; What is the standard of excess? It is by a wide examination of particular species, and by several successive generalizations of observed facts, that we are led to a diagram of an animal form of a certain kind, (for example, a vertebrate;) and of the various ways, excessive and defective, in which the parts may be developed.
It's common for non-expert readers to complain that the technical terms they encounter in science books lack straightforward definitions they can understand. But clear definitions can't be provided. Definitions are made up of words, and for scientific terms, they must consist of words that also need definitions, and so on, endlessly. Elementary substances in chemistry, for example, what do they refer to? They are the substances into which materials can be analyzed, and through which they are composed. But what is analysis? What does composition mean? We've seen that it took extensive and tedious experimentation to answer these questions, and ultimately, the balance of evidence helped settle differing opinions. This is true in other fields as well. When we delve into each science, we encounter a new vocabulary. How do we learn the meaning of this new set of terms? In what other language can it be explained? What terms should we use to define these new expressions? Unfortunately, we have to say that we can't translate these terms into any common or familiar language. Here, as in all other areas of knowledge, the meaning of words comes from the evolution of thought. We can only understand these terms in the context of the ongoing investigations by scientists regarding the composition and elements of materials. To grasp their meaning, we must understand what these terms meant in the minds of the researchers who made the discoveries. The same principle applies to other subjects. Take Morphology, for example. When a beginner hears that every group of animals can be traced back to an Archetype, they will look for a definition of Archetype. One definition provided states: the Archetype of a group of animals is a diagram illustrating all the organs and parts found in that group in a relative arrangement as they would be if none had developed excessively. But then we must ask, how do we learn about that diagram; what parts does it contain, and how are they interconnected; and furthermore, what qualifies as excess? It is through a broad study of specific species and through multiple successive generalizations of observed facts that we arrive at a diagram representing a certain type of animal form (for instance, a vertebrate) and various ways in which the parts may develop excessively or deficiently.
This craving for definitions, as we have already said, arises in a great degree from the acquaintance with geometry which most persons acquire at an early age. The definitions of geometry are easily intelligible by a beginner, because the idea of space, of which they are modifications, is clearly possessed without any special culture. But this is not and cannot be the case in other sciences founded upon a wide and exact observation of facts. 370
This need for definitions, as we've already mentioned, comes largely from the familiarity with geometry that most people gain at a young age. The definitions in geometry are easy for beginners to understand because the concept of space, which they are based on, is something we all grasp without needing special training. However, this is not and cannot be true for other sciences that rely on extensive and precise observation of facts. 370
It was formerly said that there was no Royal Road to Geometry: in modern times we have occasion often to repeat that there is no Popular Road—no road easy, pleasant, offering no difficulty and demanding no toil,—to Comparative Anatomy, Chemistry or any other of the Inductive Sciences.
It used to be said that there was no Royal Road to Geometry: nowadays, we often find ourselves repeating that there is no Popular Road—no easy, enjoyable path that requires no effort and demands no work—to Comparative Anatomy, Chemistry, or any other of the Inductive Sciences.
THE END.
THE END.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
Transcriber’s Notes
Transcribing Notes
Adaptations in this text
Adaptations in this text
In the present text footnotes are numbered by Book and are placed after the paragraph to which they attach; in the original, notes were numbered by chapter. Page numbers appear in colour; where a word was hyphenated across pages the number has been placed before the word. Fractions have been transcribed as numerator ⁄ denominator; the original usually has numerator over a line with denominator below.
In this text, footnotes are numbered by Book and placed after the paragraph they refer to; in the original, notes were numbered by chapter. Page numbers are in color; if a word was hyphenated across pages, the number appears before the word. Fractions have been written as numerator ⁄ denominator; the original typically had the numerator over a line with the denominator below.
Some unusual symbols occur. On pages 357 and 358, there are italic letters with a number written above them. On two occasions B has a 1 above it, and once C has ½ above it. On page 364 a formula is written with two entries containing H on a line above Cl. These superpositions have all been transcribed by superscripting the first and subscripting the second item (with the result that the letters are printed smaller than in the original). The other oddities have been captured in Unicode.
Some unusual symbols appear. On pages 357 and 358, there are italic letters with a number above them. In two instances, B has a 1 above it, and once C has ½ above it. On page 364, a formula is written with two entries containing H on a line above Cl. These arrangements have all been transcribed using superscripting for the first and subscripting for the second item (resulting in the letters being printed smaller than in the original). The other oddities have been captured using Unicode.
Inductive Charts
Inductive Diagrams
Corrections
Edits
Corrections are comparatively few. Apart from the silent ones,
they have been marked by dotted red underline, on mouse-over
revealing the nature of the change. Given the various editions, some
of the internal cross-references turn out to be obsolete or
erroneous:
note 11 in Book III.
The text reads B. viii. c. iii. but it refers actually to Book viii.
c. ii. article 3 in earlier editions and in the History of Scientific Ideas, cf. Aphorism
88 in Book I. of the present volume. Compare also Aphorism 19 in this volume’s Book IV.
notes 58 and 59 in Book III. refer to Book v.
c. i. For the present third edition they should have been aimed at
that chapter of the History of Scientific Ideas.
On page 252 we are told that the Work is about to conclude, as
the first edition did in a way (all the aphorisms were gathered
after Book XIII. [= our Book III.], followed by various appendices).
But we have Book IV. yet to come, plus some extra illustrations
regarding language and symbols in science.
Corrections are relatively few. Aside from the silent ones, they are marked with a dotted red underline, and when you hover over them, you can see what the change is. Given the different editions, some of the internal cross-references are now outdated or incorrect:
note 11 in Book III. The text states B. viii. c. iii. but actually refers to Book viii. c. ii. article 3 in earlier editions and in the History of Scientific Ideas, see Aphorism
88 in Book I. of the current volume. Also, check Aphorism 19 in Book IV of this volume.
notes 58 and 59 in Book III. refers to Book v. c. i. For this third edition, they should have pointed to that chapter of the History of Scientific Ideas.
On page 252, we learn that the Work is about to conclude, similar to how the first edition did (all the aphorisms were collected after Book XIII. [= our Book III.], followed by various appendices). But we still have Book IV. to come, along with some additional illustrations related to language and symbols in science.
(I might add that I have not checked the many references to Whewell’s other related works. The errors here suggest one might need to take them with a pinch of salt, and help from the browser’s search function.)
(I might add that I haven’t checked the many references to Whewell’s other related works. The errors here suggest you might want to take them with a grain of salt, and you might need to rely on the browser’s search function for help.)
There are some inconsistencies, notably in spelling, which have in general not been adjusted; nor have Whewell’s unbalanced quotation marks and positioning of footnote anchors been modernized.
There are some inconsistencies, especially in spelling, which generally haven’t been changed; nor have Whewell’s uneven quotation marks and placement of footnote anchors been updated.
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